Belasco's Beatrice
by Rowena Zahnrei
Summary: Is the demon Belasco really a brainwashed Nightcrawler? If so, can Kurt ever hope for redemption? This is a COMPLETE story! If you peek, Please Review!
1. Chapter One

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the X-Men or any of their multiple incarnations. Please don't sue me or steal my story!  
  
NOTE: In Italian, Beatrice is pronounced Bee-a-TREECH-eh. Since the great Dante wrote his Inferno in Italian, I would guess Belasco would say the name with the Italian pronounciation.  
  
NOTE II: The opening speech (from "There..." to "What about Kurt Wagner?" ) is quoted directly from Universe X Volume 2. The descriptions in between those quotes and everything that follows is mine (except the characters themselves, of course. Those are Marvel's).  
  
**Belasco's Beatrice**  
By Rowena  
  
Chapter One  
  
The sun was shining, the grass was lush and green, and the sound of happy shouts and carefree laughter wafted through the fragrant springtime air. The destruction of the earth had been averted, the lives of every man, woman, and child had been saved. For the first time in too long a time it finally seemed as though God was in His heaven and all was right with the world.  
  
Unnoticed by the happy people practicing their powers in the grassy clearing, a cloaked, shadowy figure grabbed hold of a thick, rough treebranch with one powerful hand and leaned forward, looking down at the scene below him with glowing, yellow eyes. Strangely, his long, red fingers were tied together in twos although there was no evidence of a wound that would necessitate such crippling bandages.  
  
As he observed the small group of mutants from his perch in the tree, his glowing eyes sought out and fixed themselves on one figure in particular; a tall, slender man with short, snow-white hair and an imposing air of charismatic power that seemed to swirl around him like a majestic cloak.  
  
"There..." the shadow whispered, his low voice barely audible above the rustle of the tender, new leaves that shielded his malevolent form from view. "There. Magneto is an ally now. A hero. A _friend_." He blinked, turning his gaze from the imposing old man to focus on the group as a whole. "You've succeeded in redeeming him, X-Men, as you have almost all your enemies. Magneto...the Brotherhood...Unus...Juggernaut...Sauron. You saved them all."  
  
With a sudden jerk that ran the risk of spraining his neck, the shadowy figure tore his gaze from the bright scene below him, focusing instead on the bandaged red hand that gripped the branch, its long, claw-like nails digging into the rough bark. His long, angular face was twisted in an expression of bitter pain, his hard eyes narrowed in anger.  
  
"But what of a _friend's_ redemption?" he near spat, gripping his perch harder with his spade-tipped tail. "Why haven't you redeemed _me_? What about _Kurt Wagner_?"  
  
A powerful shudder ran down his spine as he spoke the all-too-familiar name, nearly causing his tail to untwine itself from around the thick treebranch. He knew the answer to that question. He'd known it even before he'd voiced it.  
  
It was because he had been a friend that the X-Men were avoiding him now. It was because what he had done to them had been far, far worse than anything their other enemies had ever done that they had not reached out to him, offering him their forgiveness and a place among them once more.  
  
"You betrayed them," he hissed, his harsh, accusing voice burning in his sharply pointed ears as he lowered his head in angry shame. "_I_ betrayed them. I tortured them, tormented them, killed them for no reason."  
  
He snorted sharply, his golden eyes flashing with a fiery rage. "No reason," he snarled, baring his fangs though he didn't realize it. "I had a reason. I did it out of hatred. I did it for spite. The others--Magneto and the Brotherhood, even Juggernaut to some degree--they were acting on their own beliefs, twisted and misguided though they may have been. Magneto truly believed his view was right. He believed in his ideals as strongly as that fool Xavier and his pretentious X-Men believed in theirs. When he fought, it was in defense of those ideals. When Juggernaut attacked, it was out of a personal hatred grown out of a painful past history with his brother Charles. But, when I--"  
  
He broke off, leaning back on his branch and clutching his horned head with his one hand.  
  
"Why am I here? What am I doing here?" he growled, running his claws fiercely through his wavy, crimson hair. "I neither need nor want their forgiveness. I don't _need_ them at all!"  
  
Bringing his hand to his mouth, he savagely tore the bandages from his fingers with his sharp fangs, flexing them together, then one at a time.  
  
"I am not the pathetic circus freak they knew, the grotesquely deformed mutant who would eagerly forgive any tresspass just in the hopes of being _liked_ by a group of arrogant_ fools_ who were _never_ worth the effort!" He spat, his narrow, russet features hardened by hatred.  
  
"Kurt Wagner is dead," he stated, his breath quickening slightly as the blunt words passed his narrow lips. "_I _am Belasco. And a demon has no need for redemption."  
  
Where a certain blue, fuzzy, elf-like mutant may once have simply teleported from the treebranch with a soft BAMF of imploding air and a brief, theatrical flash of sulfur-scented smoke, the dark, cloaked figure who claimed the name Belasco climbed down to the soft, new grass with surprisingly nimble movements, given his lack of an arm. Keeping to the shadows, the proud, malevolent figure left the grassy clearing and the X- Men who played there far behind. But he knew he'd be back before long. He also knew why. For, even as he stalked away, his five unbandaged fingers split themselves of their own accord into a familiar, tridactal form...  
  
Like it? Hate it? Want more? It's up to you! Please let me know what you think! 


	2. Chapter Two

Thank you, Your Worshipfulness!  
  
Actually, it is another Kuroro story, and here's Ch. 2! I'm not sure how many chapters it'll have at this point, but I don't think it'll be nearly as long as 'Earth' or 'Hero'. It might seem a little weird at first, but I'll put in lots more backstory as it goes along.

Chapter Two  
  
Ororo Munroe sighed deeply, shaking her head as she effortlessly called up a tiny rain cloud and sent it to float around the room, watering her plants. She looked around the large, humid greenhouse, her blue eyes falling on the young fig tree she and Kurt had planted so many years ago, before he'd been lost to them in that cave, encased in stone by the Gray Gargoyle. Or so they'd believed...  
  
A slight, bittersweet smile brushed her lips as she walked over to the fig tree, lightly brushing the deep, green leaves with her fingertips. It had been so small then, barely more than a seedling. Ororo hadn't been sure it would even make it through the winter, but Kurt had had complete confidence in her ability to coax the sickly little plant into vibrant, glorious life. He had always—  
  
Ororo shuddered slightly, her breath catching in her throat and her eyes stinging as she spun away from the tree, unable to face it or the memories it evoked any longer.  
  
It had been nearly a year since the truth of Belasco's identity had been revealed, and the X-Men were still reeling from the shock. This monster, this heartless demon was not and never had been the corrupted Italian sorcerer who had tormented Dante and stolen his beloved Beatrice, causing her a horrific death as he strove to create a race of demons. He was Kurt Wagner, the dearest, kindest, most compassionate man Ororo Munroe had ever had the honor of knowing.  
  
The realization that their demonic tormentor was none other than their brainwashed friend and teammate had come as a stunning blow to all the X- Men, but it had seemed to hit Ororo the hardest. The snowy-haired elemental simply could not equate the cruel, angry creature she knew as Belasco with the sweet, forgiving man she had believed dead for so long. To see him now, transformed into the very demon he had been reviled as all his life, was a sight too painful for her to bear. But painful as it was, she could not deny the truth of what she had seen and heard. This embittered, hate-filled copy of Belasco was indeed her old friend. And she had waited for far too long to confront him over what he had become.  
  
Ororo raised her arms, causing her tiny rain cloud to dissipate into little more than a wisp of warm steam. Then, she spun on her heel, striding purposefully out of the greenhouse and into the hallway.  
  
She knew where to find him. Since discovering the truth of his identity, Kurt had settled himself in the cruelest, most violent section of the city, a place made all the more dangerous now that the population was made up almost entirely by mutants. He had become a fierce, protective, terrifying figure whose very name struck a dread fear into the hearts of the most hardened of underworld criminals.  
  
Ororo had smiled to herself when she had first been told of Kurt's crime- fighting activities. His drive to be a hero had always been at the core of his nature, and even now, after all that had been done to him, he was still ruled by the desire to protect those who could not defend themselves. She could picture him in her mind; his long, red cape swirling around his lean, powerful form as he crouched in the shadows of the decrepit rooftops, his sword held securely in his russet hand as his long tail mirrored the movements of his alert, sweeping eyes.  
  
She sighed deeply, squeezing her eyes closed with pain as she considered what had become of one of her oldest and closest friends. Her mind's eye pictured a tortured, lonely figure, a pure soul twisted and tormented by anguished guilt and searing pain. He had been alone for far too long. He needed to know he still had friends, friends who were truly concerned for him even though they were terrified of his current incarnation. The others had shown no sign of any desire to make contact with him, and she knew Kurt would never come to them after all he had done as Belasco. It was up to Ororo to make the first move—no more excuses, no more procrastination, no more fear.  
  
Grabbing her scarf from the foyer closet, Ororo quickly bound her hair and turned towards the mansion's front door.  
  
"Hey, 'Ro!"  
  
A voice from behind startled her from her determined thoughts. She spun a little too quickly to face the man who had addressed her.  
  
"Scott!" she gasped, a slender, mocha hand pressed over her heart. "I'm sorry, you startled me. Did you want something?"  
  
Cyclops shook his head. "No, not really. I was just curious." He gestured to the colorful scarf she had tied with elegant grace around her long, white hair. "You looked like you were going out."  
  
Ororo raised her head and peered at him with aloof, blue eyes. "So I am."  
  
Scott knew that look all too well. He held up his hands in mock surrender. "I know, I know, it's none of my business," he smiled. "But, still, I suppose there's no chance you might fill me in on where you're going? Just in case anyone asks."  
  
Ororo gazed at him, considering. "I'm going to visit a friend. That's all."  
  
Scott shot her a shrewd look that was mostly obscured by his ruby-quartz glasses. "If that really is all then what's with all the secrecy?"  
  
Ororo sighed, crossing her arms imperiously before her. "Before I tell you, know this first. Nothing you nor anyone else may say will sway me from what I have planned to do. The X-Men do not abandon their friends, no matter how they may have hurt us in the past."  
  
Cyclops held up a staying hand to interrupt her. "Let me guess," he said. "You're going to see Kurt, aren't you."  
  
Ororo just looked at him, her blue gaze steady. Scott nodded.  
  
"Look, 'Ro, I understand your concern for him. I share it. But he's not the Kurt Wagner we knew. Not anymore. He's confused, dangerous. If you approach him now, I doubt he would even recognize you, let alone listen to you."  
  
Ororo sighed through her nose and turned her head, staring at the umbrella stand by the door.  
  
"Scott," she said simply, "Kurt needs our help."  
  
Scott pursed his lips, knowing she couldn't see his narrowed eyes through his ruby-quartz glasses. "Why do you say that?"  
  
"Because I know him, Scott!" Ororo said, snapping her head around to face him once more. "For years, whenever any of us were hurting or confused or angry at the unfairness of the world, Kurt was there to comfort us with a few kind words and an honest compassion. Kurt! The one out of all of us who had the most right to be bitter about his situation was the one who gave thanks to his God each day for his good fortune! And do you know what was chief on his list, Scott?"  
  
Scott shook his head, knowing better than to speak.  
  
"His friends. His _friends_, Scott. He counted _us_ first among his blessings, and he always went out of his way to make sure he lived up to what he believed was our unconditional acceptance of him. And we took him for granted, Scott. We took his love for granted. That's why Mephisto was able to get to him like that. We're the ones who opened the door for that demon to sneak his poison through, we're the ones who gave that snake an entrance into Kurt's heart. We're just as much responsible for his current situation as that repugnant monster is!  
  
"Kurt is hurting. He must be in agony over what Belasco has done. And, he is not going to come to us for help. Even though he was always willing to come to our aid, to help us through our own petty problems, whenever something was bothering him he'd keep it to himself, revealing his pain only to his God.  
  
"It's been a year, Scott. He needs to know that we still care about him. And that's why I'm going to him now, whether he wants me there or not."  
  
Scott ground his teeth as a wave of shame rolled over him. He could barely meet Ororo's shining, tear-filled eyes.  
  
"You're right," he managed to croak out through a suddenly tight throat. "You're right, Ororo. You should go to him. And I'm going with you."  
  
Ororo's tightened lips relaxed into a soft smile. "No, Scott," she said. "Your offer is appreciated, but somehow I feel this is something I must do alone."  
  
Scott was about to protest, to alert her to the dangers of the part of town where Kurt had taken up residence, to warn her of the danger that Kurt himself might pose to her, but he stopped himself. Ororo was a brave, capable leader who could more than handle herself in a fight, even against Belasco. Besides, she was right. Kurt might reach out to her if she approached him alone, but if he realized she had company he might withdraw into himself, or even get violent. Slowly, he nodded, his shoulders sagging slightly.  
  
"All right, Ororo," he said, before he turned to leave. "Just tell me how it went when you get back, OK?"  
  
Ororo's smile widened, but it did not light her anguished eyes. "Of course, Scott," she said. "I should be back before dawn."

#######

I should be finished with Ch.3 by the end of the week.

Please Review! :D


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three  
  
Bundled in tattered blankets, all but invisible among the deep shadows of the dusty, crumbling spire of the old cathedral, a man woke from a restless sleep. He sat up, crying out into the darkness—a strangled, anguished sound that tore painfully from his throat. He was trembling, sobbing, the hot tears streaming down his narrow face—but as he slowly rose to full consciousness, the memory of whatever horrors had haunted his dreams faded, leaving only blankness and a cold, lingering fear.  
  
Disoriented and confused, the man stumbled awkwardly to his feet, stepping into his worn, leather boots and walking slowly to the small, open window on the far side of the cramped, cobwebby space. Climbing up onto a pile of dusty, cloth-draped crates, he slipped out the window with practiced ease and caught hold of the edge of the roof, hauling himself up onto the moss- covered slates with his one arm.  
  
The brisk night air helped to revive him as he crouched on the sloped roof, still and silent as a protective gargoyle. His long, spade-tipped tail was wrapped securely around the long pole that supported the large cross which marked this place out as holy ground.  
  
Lowering his head slightly, he noticed his hand was trembling. He clenched his fist tightly, taking in a deep, calming breath as he strove to slow his racing heartbeat. Without thinking, he reached into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out two long strips of cloth. With the help of his teeth, he quickly and securely bound his fingers into a tridactal shape. For some unfathomable reason, that made him feel safer somehow, more grounded.  
  
Shaking his head in something close to disgust, the man tore his newly bandaged fingers through his short, crimson hair. Ridiculous. That's what he was. He was letting this place get to him, and such weakness was unacceptable.  
  
He snarled, glaring down at the graffiti covered buildings and torn-up pavement far below. What madness had made him decide to take up residence in the spire of a cathedral anyway? True, it was the best vantage point for viewing the squalid, corrupt swath of crumbling city streets he had chosen to make his home, but by all rights, he shouldn't even be able to stand there. Even now, he half expected to see his booted feet burst into flame where they touched the mossy slate roof. He was almost disappointed when it didn't happen. After all, a church was no place for a demon.  
  
But was he a demon? That was the question that had been causing him to loose sleep for almost a year, ever since he had traveled back to the ruin on the mountain and seen what appeared to be his own body encased in ice. The ancient, frozen corpse was standing in exactly the right spot, in exactly the same position where he remembered fighting that fateful duel against his best friend so many years ago. Dante had won that fight; severing Belasco's arm and causing the demon to accidentally slice through the duct above him, releasing the gas that had frozen him instantly in place. However, despite his heroic actions, the poet had been unable to save the life of his beloved Beatrice, the woman Belasco had abducted and ultimately murdered as he strove to do the will of the Elder Gods.  
  
The russet-skinned man shuddered deeply at the dark memories—real or implanted, he didn't know. Hesitantly, he reached up to touch the two sharp horns that protruded from his smooth forehead. The realization that he might in fact be the mutant Kurt Wagner terrified him even more than the idea of being a demon. After all, if he was truly a demon the evil he had worked over the centuries was just a manifestation of his true nature and he had nothing to feel guilt or fear over. However, if he really was Kurt Wagner, how could he possibly begin to atone for his many sins? How could he continue to live with the knowledge of the horrors he had performed, the lives he had ruined, and the lives he had taken?  
  
He sighed deeply and turned his glowing gaze to the twinkling stars. The tempting thought of suicide had been flitting across his tormented mind since long before the nightmares began. It would be so easy to put an end to his pain once and for all. All he had to do was to loosen his grip on the pole. He would roll down the slanted roof, gaining speed as he went, until that wonderfully liberating moment when he suddenly found himself in free fall. He would spread his arm out to its full length, welcoming the chill breeze that whipped his hair back and caused his cloak to billow out behind him as he spun towards the ground.  
  
Then, the impact.  
  
He had to admit, it would be a fitting end for an acrobat who had lost his balance.  
  
He had no idea if the impact would hurt, or if the shock would last long enough for him to leave his malformed, disfigured body without pain or regret. Either way, he knew a swift, easy end like that was far less than he deserved. He deserved to suffer, to hurt. He deserved a long, drawn out, painful death at the hands of those he had so gravely and repeatedly wronged. Unfortunately, he knew all too well that such an end was something the X-Men could never give him.  
  
Surprisingly, the only part of him that kept his tail wrapped securely around the pole, the only part that kept him from pressing his chest against the pointed end of his sword when the nightmares became too much to bear, was the same part that cried out from the depths of his shredded psyche that he was, indeed, Kurt Wagner. This soft, accented voice that rattled around in his head like a ghost he could not see or touch was also the part that demanded he take full responsibility for kidnapping and corrupting little Illyana Rasputin, the sister of the X-Man known as Colossus, and for repeatedly manipulating and torturing the X-Men who had tried so valiantly to come to her rescue. Kurt Wagner, ever the wide-eyed optimist, honestly believed that if he truly accepted his guilt, if he was truly willing to make amends for what he had done, if he was truly penitent, he could seek absolution for his crimes, no matter how sadistic they had been. Only suicide could never be forgiven, and suicide, the ghostly voice argued, was the coward's way out. And if there was one thing Kurt Wagner had never been and would never be, it was a coward.  
  
The russet skinned man sat back on his heels, his darkly swirling thoughts unearthing a shadowy memory of a time when he wouldn't have needed to hold himself in place by his tail. Once, his feet would have stuck to the moldy surface of the roof as easily and securely as a magnet sticks to a refrigerator door. That's how it had been back when there were no boots that could fit his feet and his heels were little more than a third toe. He remembered walking up walls and crawling across ceilings, giving rather less thought to this extraordinary ability than a spider would have done.  
  
He reached out a tentative hand and gingerly touched the roof, waiting for the familiar feeling of attraction to run across his skin, raising his short, velvety fur like static electricity. When it didn't come, he looked down at his red, furless, five-fingered hand with some confusion, not recognizing it for a moment.  
  
"Idiot," he muttered, snatching his bandaged fingers from the slate tile and tucking his hand securely into his lap. "You are not a mutant." Casting his bitter, yellow gaze over the darkened streets he sighed, hanging his head. "I don't know what you are. Or even who."  
  
A soft breeze ruffled his crimson hair as an even softer voice responded with confidence and firm self-assurance. "You are Kurt Wagner, the best and most honorable man I know no matter what has been done to you."  
  
The russet-skinned man turned to face the apparition that had addressed him, his golden eyes widening in shock and fear as a lithe, female figure dressed all in white floated over to him on a cloud of sparkling mist. For a long moment, his muddled mind couldn't shake the bizarre impression that she was an angel, sent at last to redeem him of his past sins and welcome him to eternal bliss. As she alighted next to him, surefooted on the slippery moss, a single, reverent word managed to slip past his painfully tightening throat.  
  
"...Beatrice..."  
  
The woman seemed confused, her dark head tilting to one side as she crouched down on the slate tiles before him, brushing her fine, snowy hair from her luminous blue eyes with an elegantly careless flick of her mocha wrist.  
  
"Kurt?" she asked, her deep, soothing voice laced with concern. "Are you all right?"  
  
He couldn't breathe, he couldn't speak. The angel was reaching out to him, actually taking his hideously clawed red fingers in her own warm, perfect hands. Her dark lips were moving, revealing her straight, white teeth. She was speaking, saying something--it was so hard to hear her words above the pounding of his heart...  
  
"How did this happen?" she was asking, referring to the bandages that forcibly kept his hand in a tridactal shape.  
  
He could only stare at her dumbly, uncomprehending.  
  
"Your fingers, Kurt," she elaborated, her eyes openly displaying her worry. "Are you hurt?"  
  
Kurt--no, Belasco--yes, Belasco--shook his head, forcing himself to take deep, calming breaths to slow his racing pulse. "No, my lady," he answered, his voice soft with reverence. "It's just that there are times when it seems more natural for me to grip things with three fingers than with five. I cannot explain it."  
  
The woman was staring at him, a new look of cautious concern growing in her large eyes.  
  
"Kurt," she said, her words now slow and deliberate as though she were speaking to a child. "I'm afraid I don't understand. Do you recognize me?"  
  
Belasco--or was it Kurt?--rose gracefully to his booted feet, causing her to rise with him as he took her hand in his and lifted it gently to his crimson lips for a brief, courtly kiss. This simple action reminded her so strongly of the light-hearted flirt she had known that her breath caught painfully in her throat. Perhaps he did remember after all...  
  
"You are my soul, my heart, my redeeming angel," he sighed, hardly daring to look into her eyes. "You are my beloved, my lady fair. You are Beatrice."  
  
Ororo could almost hear her hopes crumbling as he spoke those words. Releasing her hand, he fell into low genuflect at her feet, his one arm draped over his raised knee, his glowing eyes lowered humbly to the mossy slate below her feet. "Please, tell me what it is you wish of your humble servant and it will be done."  
  
Confused and frightened and not sure how to deal with this truly bizarre turn of events, Ororo did the only thing that came to mind. She strode forward and grasped the horned man's shoulders, giving him a gentle, though firm, shake.  
  
"Kurt, look at me," she demanded. "Look at me! You are not Belasco and I am certainly not Beatrice."  
  
She fell to her knees beside him, cupping his narrow chin in her hands as she forced him to look into her eyes.  
  
"My name is Ororo Munroe," she told him, using all her control to keep her voice from breaking. "We've been friends, teammates, for years. Please, Kurt, tell me you remember me? Tell me you're still in there somewhere."  
  
For a moment, an instant, really, his golden eyes lit up with a flash of wondrous recognition. His ruddy features softened into a familiar expression of befuddlement, and suddenly, Ororo could see the ghost of her old friend's handsome face blinking out at her from behind the demonic mask of Belasco's russet skin.  
  
"...Storm...?"  
  
This stunning transformation lasted barely long enough for Ororo to draw in an astonished breath. Before she even had time to form a coherent thought in response to what she had just seen, the horned man had leapt to his feet, pulling her up roughly by the elbow and holding her at arm's length. His grip was like a painful vice, and his pupilless yellow eyes burned with such dark emotions that the very sight of them terrified the brave woman straight through to her marrow.  
  
"What do you want here?" he growled through clenched teeth, his sharp, pointed fangs gleaming wickedly in the moonlight. "Why did you come?"  
  
At that moment, Ororo was unsure of the answer herself. She stared at the monster before her, desperately willing herself to overcome the terror that was freezing her body and threatening to overwhelm her thoughts. Calling on her link with the elements, Storm began to gather the stray zaps of electricity that were streaking unnoticed through the air around them.  
  
Belasco snarled in fury as her deep, blue eyes began to whiten. With a vicious shake, he leaned his narrow face in close to hers, his eyes gleaming with deadly intent. "Don't even consider it, witch," he spat. "I know all your devious little tricks. I knew this day would come sooner or later. I knew you X-Freaks would try to finish me off once you realized that I have lost my link with Limbo."  
  
He sneered, the look in his golden eyes causing her to shudder. "I must admit, disguising yourself as Beatrice was a new low I would not have expected even of you," he said darkly, his tail twitching behind him like a snake. "But now you have revealed yourself, I will make your death all the more unpleasant."  
  
Ororo glared at him, preparing to twist out of his grip and come back with a flash of lighting so powerful it just might bring him to his senses. However, Belasco anticipated her movements, ensnaring her neck with his long, powerful tail and slowly beginning to squeeze.  
  
"Very well," he said with a flippant, careless air. "Death by strangulation, so be it. Pity though," he smirked, fixing her with another malevolent glare. "I was so looking forward to hearing you scream."  
  
"Kurt!" Ororo gasped, desperately struggling to use what little breath remained her to save her friend from committing a crime she knew he would torture himself over for the rest of his life. "Kurt, I know you're in there! I know you're angry! But, Kurt, you must take control now. You cannot let Belasco continue to use you like this!" She choked as Belasco's grip tightened, watching with detached interest as blurry spots began to swim before her eyes. She squeezed her eyes shut, putting all her remaining strength into forcing her constricting throat to form words. Even so, when she spoke, her voice was a barely audible croak, "No matter what you do to me, I will always love you, Kurt Wagner...my dearest...friend....."  
  
And the nighttime world slowly faded to black.  
  
#######  
  
Belasco looked down at the unconscious woman at his feet, the cold satisfaction he had felt twisting and curdling in his gut until he had to turn away, his glowing eyes burning with horrified shame at what he had just done.  
  
"You fool," he hissed, grinding his teeth, his sharp nails digging painfully into the flesh of his palm. "She came. After all this time, after all the waiting, the hoping, the ranting at the silent moon, one of the X- Men finally found the courage to reach out to you. And how do you respond?"  
  
He turned back to face Ororo, his hard expression crumbling as he knelt down beside her.  
  
"Ach, meine Liebling," he whispered, slowly reaching out with trembling fingers to brush a stray strand of silvery hair from her mocha forehead. "What have I done?"  
  
#######  
  
Ororo slowly rose back to foggy consciousness, only to find she was lying sprawled on a cold, flat, stone floor. Her throat ached so much it was all she could do to emit a weak cough. As she did, she became aware of a presence looming over her, barely visible in the shadow of an arched, stone doorway. She struggled to sit up, to remember how she had gotten inside the cathedral, but a deep voice as chilling as death itself stopped her in mid- motion.  
  
"I don't want your pity, Ororo," the shadow said, the faintest hint of an accent clinging like a ghost to his vowels. She could have sworn it hadn't been there when he was speaking to her on the roof.  
  
Ororo struggled to her feet, opening her mouth to protest. To her shock, nothing came out. Her damaged vocal chords would not allow her to speak. The dark figure before her averted his glowing eyes from the expression on her face.  
  
"Leave this place now," he said quietly, his voice burning with a bitter anger tinged with shame. "Go back to your friends."  
  
Ororo made no move to leave, wondering who it was that was speaking to her now. Was it still Belasco, deciding to let her go for some devious reason of his own—perhaps to lure the other X-Men into a trap of some sort after she'd returned home? Or could it possibly be....Kurt?  
  
"I told you to go!" the cloaked figure snarled, stepping forward into the light. Her eyes widened as she saw he was now brandishing a long, gleaming sword in his single, powerful hand. Ororo stiffened in shock.  
  
"GO!" the horned man roared, advancing on her like a monster out of her darkest childhood nightmares. "Go now, or I swear I will run you through in return for all the times you and your precious teammates have taken advantage of me, betrayed me, and abandoned me without a thought for my feelings! You are none of you worth my time or concern."  
  
"P...please..." Ororo managed to whisper--  
  
"GO!" he screamed in a voice so full of rage and hurt that it broke Ororo's heart to hear it. But, it was just what was needed to free her from her frozen stupor. As she ran for the heavy, wooden door, the anguished, bitter voice stabbed at her heels, giving her an added burst of speed.  
  
"Go now! And never come back!"  
  
As the thick door slammed behind her, she found she knew beyond all doubt who that voice had belonged to. For the first time since she'd known him, she realized she could never again expect forgiveness from Kurt Wagner.  
  
"Sweet Goddess," she sobbed painfully, her hoarse voice barely more than a whispered croak. "What have we done to you, my friend? What have we allowed to happen?"  
  
Swiftly, Ororo called up a burst of wind and used it to lift herself into the air, unconsciously summoning a cold, drizzling rain to trail her all the way back to the mansion.  
  
#######  
  
Stay tuned for Chapter 4! Coming soon to a computer screen near you. :D  



	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four  
  
Scott Summers tossed and turned, then finally sat up. His mind was too full to sleep. Moving carefully so as not to disturb his sleeping wife, Scott exchanged his flexible 'sleep visor' for his ruby-quartz glasses, slid his feet into his bedroom slippers, and padded silently out the bedroom door. If anyone had asked, he would have said he was just going down to the rec room to see what was playing on TV. However, deep down the responsible leader in him knew there was no way he'd be able to sleep until Ororo had returned home, safe and sound.  
  
Scott grabbed up the remote control and turned on the TV, then he stretched out on the long, comfortable sofa and sighed. The first twelve channels he flipped through were mainly infomercials and news broadcasts in Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese. After a few more flicks, the image of a ragged man with long hair and a scraggly beard being rescued by a small, wooden sailing ship caught and held his attention.  
  
Scott frowned. Something about this movie seemed familiar. He could almost remember—no, he _could_ remember watching it with Kurt ages ago, long before the disastrous face-off against the Gray Gargoyle. The crazy elf had been going on and on, comparing this movie to some earlier version from the 1930s or something. Scott hadn't paid much attention at the time, but he knew he could remember the title. It was right on the tip of his tongue...  
  
"You're watching the 1975 TV classic, _The Count of Monte Cristo_ starring Richard Chamberlain and Tony Curtis. Coming up next, don't miss Stewart Granger and Mel Ferrer in the movie that boasts one of the longest sword duels in swashbuckling history: the 1952 film adaptation of Rafael Sabatini's _Scaramouche_. Then at three, lighten up with Danny Kaye in _The Court Jester_. It's an all night movie marathon, right here on..."  
  
Scott snapped his fingers as he listened to the announcer's voice, a smile spreading across his face. Of course! _The Count of Monte Cristo_--one of those corny old sword-fighting flicks Kurt had always been so keen on. His smile broadened as he recalled how positively exuberant the elf used to get whenever one of those musty old things came on TV. And tonight there was a marathon! If Kurt had been there with him right then, he would have been in heaven!  
  
Scott blinked at that thought, then swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat, his heart sinking as he ran his hand slowly through his hair.  
  
He should have gone with Ororo. He had given in to her far too easily, allowing his own guilt over Kurt's condition to make her argument for her. And now, she was out there without any back-up or support, determined to face Kurt alone.  
  
Scott snorted, his gaze hardening behind his visor. That creature she was so determined to confront was not their Kurt, not by any stretch of the imagination. He was disturbed, angry—sadistic! For all intents and purposes, he was the demon he appeared to be. He was a violent, hate- filled monster, and most of that burning hatred was directed at the X-Men.  
  
Scott sighed through his teeth, staring at the commercials without really seeing them. If anything happened to Ororo, it would be entirely his fault. He had let her walk straight into a snake pit, and he had done it despite knowing that this snake was all the more poisonous for the very fact that the good, open-hearted man he had once been still held such a sway over their hearts. Kurt Wagner been the soul of the team for so long; he had been such a dear friend to them all. If they allowed themselves to hope he could return to them, if they let him get too close, Belasco could and would use their own guilt and pain to destroy them—and he would extract a cruel pleasure from every moment of it.  
  
The movie had returned, but Scott couldn't stand to watch it any longer. He turned off the TV, then slammed the remote down onto the coffee table as he shot up from the sofa and started pacing. He was seething with frustration and worry. If Ororo didn't return in three minutes, he was heading out to find her, no matter the risk. Belasco had already stolen Kurt from them. He wasn't about to let him take Ororo as well.  
  
Scott's dark thoughts were interrupted by the distant sound of the front door opening. _Ororo!_ Without thinking, the leader of the X-Men dashed down the hallway to the foyer, nearly tripping on the edge of the patterned rug in his hurry.  
  
Ororo was there, leaning limply against the back of the door, her mocha features cloaked by the darkness of the room. The moon, which had been shining brightly while Scott was in the rec room, was now obscured by clouds, and a light, drizzly rain had started outside.  
  
"Ororo?" Scott asked, his voice soft and cautious as he slowly approached her, treading carefully through the dark room. "How did it go?"  
  
Ororo looked up, her wide eyes glittering in the dim light of the streetlamp by the driveway, her damp hair appearing almost gray. Then, before Scott could react, the normally stoic Ororo was in his arms, clinging to him desperately as she sobbed brokenly against his chest.  
  
"He's there, Scott," she whispered hoarsely into his shoulder. "It's Kurt. I saw him. He spoke to me."  
  
Scott frowned, stroking her back as she continued to cry. "Ororo, what's wrong with your voice?" he asked as gently as he could. "What happened out there?"  
  
Ororo just shook her head, her wet clothes, hair, and tears leaving a damp spot on Scott's nightshirt. Scott's frown deepened, and he broke her embrace to seek out the light switch.  
  
"No, Scott!" Ororo croaked as she realized what he was doing. "Don't! It's all right. I—"  
  
But it was too late. Bright light flooded the foyer, causing them both to squint and blink as their eyes adjusted. Ororo just stood there, stoic and aloof as she met Scott's gaze without anger or shame. Scott gasped, then glared as he caught sight of the bruises on Ororo's slender neck.  
  
"Did he do this to you," he demanded, advancing on her in a fury. Ororo didn't answer, her expression calm and unwavering. The red, multi-faceted lenses of Scott's glasses began to glow as his eyes flashed in anger.  
  
"Don't you dare defend him, Ororo. If Belasco hurt you, you _have_ to tell me."  
  
"Yes," Ororo acknowledged after a long, tense pause, her hoarse voice barely above a whisper. "Belasco did try to hurt me. But Kurt let me go. I think...I think he was trying to protect me."  
  
Scott furrowed his brow over his shades. "What do you mean?"  
  
Ororo just shook her head, raising one hand to her bruised throat. Scott scowled, then sighed, reaching out to put a brotherly hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Come on," he said. "Let's get you down to the medbay. We can talk about this once you're better."  
  
Ororo nodded, allowing Scott to lead her to the stairs.  
  
Outside, the chill, drizzling rain continued to fall.

#######

Thank you very much for the wonderful reviews, and for the lovely compliments! :-D

I'm sorry you had such a frustrating time trying to read it, Elski. That's happened to me too. I'm glad you're enjoying the story anyway!

_Tune in next time when_ Belasco's Beatrice _continues!_


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five  
  
For a moment it had all been so clear. She had been there—she had touched him, held his hand, and he had remembered. He had remembered her, and the memories had been real; vibrant. The sun on her snowy hair, so bright against her mocha skin; the sheer power behind her slender form as the lightening she had called flashed through the turbulent skies; her smile as she spoke to him; the touch of her hand on his wrist, guiding him as he helped her plant a row of flowers in the rich loam of her garden.  
  
The images had come in a sudden, brilliant flash of clarity, her voice drawing them from him, beckoning him out of the darkness and away from the confusion, anger, and loneliness that had defined his life for so long. For a moment, his heart had been light and he could see...  
  
And then, as quickly as it had come, the clarity had gone, leaving only the painful bitterness of its passing.  
  
Kurt Wagner sighed, a sigh so deep and ragged it was almost a sob, his shoulders trembling as he pressed his head back against the cold stones of the wall by the pile of rags and musty cloths that made up his bed. He turned his anguished gaze to the shadowy rafters high above, slowly sinking down to crouch on the floor, his tail curling around to hug his knees as he fought against the tears stinging his eyes.  
  
Three days ago, she had come. She had reached out to him—and then it had all disappeared in a hazy fog of rage. It was as though he had blacked out, but he had still been aware. Somewhere through the blinding pain, beyond the anger and hatred that had flooded his mind, he had still been conscious of her. He had heard her calling to him through the thickening fog, but the answering voice had not been his. It had been the voice of another...the cold, venomous voice of Belasco.  
  
Kurt squeezed his eyes closed against the lump constricting his throat, fighting against the urge to lower his head, to sink his fingers in his hair. As long as he didn't look down, he could be himself. As long as he wasn't reminded of what he had become, he could be the man he had been. If he looked at his hand, his boots, if he touched the horns on his forehead or caught a glimpse of his shadow against the stone floor, Belasco would return. For now, however, Kurt was in control.  
  
The sight of Ororo unconscious on the roof, just lying there so helpless and vulnerable, so completely at his mercy had jarred Kurt free of the fog, pulling him out of the darkness of his own mind. For that moment, all the anger, all the frustrated bitterness that fueled Belasco's burning hate had fallen away under the force of Kurt's sudden wave of stunned concern for her, giving him the opportunity to carry his former friend and teammate to safety.  
  
He had crouched there in the darkness of the abandoned cathedral, just watching her as she breathed. He'd had no idea what to say to her, no idea of what Belasco had done to make her lose consciousness in the first place. So he had just waited, still and silent as a statue, until she finally opened her crystal eyes.  
  
The undisguised terror that had twisted her expression when she'd looked at him had nearly caused Belasco and all his rage to overwhelm him once again. The fear in her eyes had cut him to the core, even after so much time. It would have been so easy to just surrender to the encroaching fog, to let himself slip away into the darkness as he had so many times before. But this time, something had been different. This time, Kurt Wagner had fought back.  
  
Although she was most likely unaware of it, Ororo's visit had sparked something deep within him, something that had only continued to grow as the days passed. She had given him a reason to hope again. For the first time since discovering the truth of his identity, Kurt found himself truly believing that there was a chance his former friends had not given up on him, that perhaps...perhaps his redemption was possible after all. The brilliant flash of clarity Ororo had bestowed him had left a lingering afterglow in his heart, awakening a ghostly warmth—the warmth of compassion, of belonging, of love; feelings that had lain dormant and buried for so long he had nearly forgotten...  
  
It was the hesitant, gradual reawakening of these feelings that had enabled Kurt to retain control for so long. The rage was still there, lurking at the edges of his psyche, just waiting for the opportunity to flare up once more. But for now...for now he could be himself.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Kurt rose to his feet, fixing his golden gaze firmly on the stars shining outside his window.  
  
"My name is Kurt Wagner," he stated, his voice firm and sure, his words colored with the distant memory of a German accent.  
  
"My name is Kurt Wagner!" he shouted out into the darkness of the crumbling city, blinking his eyes forcefully against the sudden sting of unshed tears. Clenching his fist, he lifted his chin, his tail lashing behind him as his thin, russet lips stretched into a cold, triumphant smile.  
  
"It is Belasco who is dead."

#######  
  
"This way," Anna whispered through her giggles, her large, orange eyes bright in the moonlight.  
  
"Where are we going?" Paul hissed back, laughing himself as she grabbed his scaly arm and pulled him closer.  
  
"Just follow me," she said, her smile impish as she pushed the side door open and dragged him through.  
  
"Won't we get in trouble?" he asked, slightly worried. "Going outside after curfew..."  
  
"We won't leave the grounds," Anna assured him. "Don't tell me you're chickening out all ready."  
  
"No!" Paul said quickly. "No, I just... It would really suck to get expelled after only eight weeks, don't you think?"  
  
Anna rolled her eyes. "Honestly," she sneered. "You won't get expelled, believe me. And we won't get caught either."  
  
She stopped their progress under a nearby tree, stepping close and looking deep into his yellow-slitted, reptilian eyes. "Now," she said with a wicked smile. "It's time to see if you really trust me. Climb up onto that tree branch."  
  
She pointed to a thick branch just above their heads, then stepped aside to give him room. Paul shot her a somewhat nervous glance, chuckling slightly.  
  
"If I'd known going out with you was going to involve so many risks..."  
  
"So it's true then!" Anna exclaimed, angrily placing her hands on her hips. "You really did mean what you said at lunch."  
  
"Anna, I don't even remember what I said at lunch," Paul protested.  
  
"You don't believe I'll catch you, do you," Anna stated. "You actually think I'd let you fall."  
  
"It's not that, Anna, really," Paul tried, taking a step closer to her. "It's just, I'm afraid of heights and—"  
  
"You don't think I can control my powers well enough to catch you," she continued as if he hadn't even spoken. "That's it, isn't it? You don't trust me."  
  
Paul threw up his hands in a helpless gesture of surrender. "Fine," he said. "I'll do it, OK? If my suicide is what it'll take to convince you of my utter respect and admiration for your abilities, then that's what I'll do. Here I go. I'm climbing the tree, see?"  
  
"There's no reason to be so sarcastic," Anna scowled, watching as he hesitantly scooted out onto the branch.  
  
"OK, I'm up here," he said, his slender, forked tongue flicking in and out of his mouth in anxiety. "What do you want me to do now?"  
  
"Stand on the branch with your back towards me," Anna instructed, "then let yourself fall."  
  
Paul's laugh was about two octaves too high. "Yeah. Right. Let myself fall. Sounds like fun."  
  
"Just do it, Paul," she said impatiently. "I'll make an energy net to catch you."  
  
"Make the net first," Paul said, his voice high and shaky. "Then I'll do it."  
  
"But the whole point is to show you I can get the timing right," Anna protested.  
  
"Anna, I know you can get the timing right," Paul cried, clinging desperately to the branch with both arms. "I just want to see the net, or else I won't be able to stand up. I wasn't kidding when I told you I'm afraid of heights!"  
  
Anna looked up at him as though seeing him for the first time. Her eyes widened, then her angry, defensive expression softened. "You're not kidding, are you," she said, her voice much gentler. "You really are scared."  
  
"No duh, geniusss," Paul snapped shakily, his flickering tongue making him hiss slightly.  
  
"And you climbed all the way up there just for me?" Anna said, clasping her hands in front of her chest. "Oh, Paul, you really do trust me, don't you!"  
  
"I told you I did, but you wouldn't believe me."  
  
"I'll make you a net right away," she said, cracking her fingers then making an odd, circular gesture in the air. A large, glowing net shot from her hands, hovering just under the tree branch, several feet off the ground.  
  
"OK, now just relax and let yourself go. The net is here to catch you, don't worry."  
  
Just then, Anna heard Paul cry out in pain and alarm. She jumped, nearly losing control of her net.  
  
"Paul, what is it?" she exclaimed. "Are you OK?"  
  
"That wasn't me," Paul gasped out, more frightened than ever. "Just get me down, OK?!"  
  
"Then who—"  
  
"I don't know, OK?!" Paul cried. "Probably someone from the mansion. Please get me down, Anna. Please!"  
  
"OK, Paul," she nodded, sobering as she returned her concentration to sustaining her glowing energy net. "The net's secure. Just roll off the branch and I'll lower you down."  
  
Paul took several deep breaths, then nodded. "OK," he said, "I'm ready. Just promise me you won't tell anyo—"  
  
Just then, there was a loud crack and a rustle of leaves as something large and dark plummeted out of the shadows above them to land heavily in the glowing net. Paul and Anna both screamed, the net vanishing as her concentration broke. As the dark shape continued its descent to the grass, Paul lost his balance on the tree branch. Luckily, the mysterious form broke his fall.  
  
Paul sat up slowly, leaning forward to see what it was he had landed on.  
  
"Anna," he whispered, his trembling voice breaking. "Anna, are you ssstill there?"  
  
"Paul?" Anna sounded no better than her boyfriend as she crept closer, her breaths short and loud.  
  
"It'sss a man," Paul hissed nervously, reaching out to tentatively pull aside his deep, red cloak so he could catch a glimpse of his narrow face. "He'sss not moving."  
  
"Do you think he's...you know...dead?"  
  
Anna and Paul looked at each other for a long, tense moment, then both students broke out into panicked screams, dashing away from the fallen stranger and back towards the mansion as fast as their legs could carry them.


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six  
  
A powerful thrill of fear shocked Charles Xavier out of a restless sleep, overpowering his senses and flooding his mind with thoughts, memories, and emotions that were not his. A tall oak tree overlooking Ororo's garden; a shadowy form falling, its deep red cloak billowing out behind it; a glowing energy net; a rush of panic at the realization that the man who had fallen—a stranger with red skin and horns—was not moving.  
  
Xavier's eyes shot open, his breath coming in short gasps as he slowly came to himself. That face he had just seen—the man with the horns... It was not the face of a stranger.  
  
The old man swallowed, forcing his breathing to slow to normal as he reached for the intercom switch by his bed. He could have contacted Scott through a direct telepathic link, but this late at night he was most likely asleep. The Professor figured it would be best not to wake him in such an intrusive way. Besides, his wife, Jean, was away at a conference so he wouldn't have to worry about waking her as well.  
  
Flicking the switch, Xavier dragged himself up into a sitting position and leaned his back against the headboard.  
  
"Scott," he said. "Scott, I'm sorry to disturb your sleep but please respond."  
  
There was a brief pause, then Scott's slightly sleep-thickened voice filled the Professor's room.  
  
"Professor?" he yawned. "What's the problem?"  
  
"I fear we may have an emergency on our hands," Xavier explained. "Will you please wake Hank and Ororo? And locate Anna Dvorkin and Paul Carter. I would like to have a talk with them."  
  
"Of course, Charles," Scott assured him, although his tone was wary. "Just what is the nature of this emergency?"  
  
Xavier sighed. "I believe Belasco has been stalking the mansion," he said softly. "Anna and Paul had the misfortune of running into him tonight on the grounds."  
  
A muffled hiss that sounded remarkably like a swear came over the intercom. Xavier frowned.  
  
"Scott," he said sharply, "would you happen to know anything about this?"  
  
Scott sighed deeply. "I— You remember Ororo's accident some three nights ago?"  
  
"Yes, of course. She had to wear a neck brace for two days."  
  
"Well, it wasn't an accident." Scott admitted. "It was Belasco. Ororo went to see him that night. I'm not sure, but it's possible that's the reason he's come here now."  
  
Xavier straightened, his lips tightening in anger. "Why wasn't I told," he demanded.  
  
"Well, we—"  
  
"Belasco is a cruel, calculating demon, one of the few enemies we X-Men have left!" Xavier interrupted angrily. "If you knew about this, you should have stopped her, Scott! You should have known Belasco would see her overtures as a weakness on our part, a weakness he could manipulate! And now he's come here to this school, threatening our students! I can't believe you would be so short-sighted, so—"  
  
"I know!" Scott snapped, cutting him off. "You're right. I should have stopped her. But I didn't. I couldn't! And you know why as well as I do."  
  
Xavier closed his eyes against a sudden, painful lump in his throat. "Kurt is dead, Scott," he said at last, his voice hoarse and quiet. "He's not coming back. I know it's hard to accept, but—"  
  
"I know," Scott sighed. "Belasco can use our hope against us. It's just...it's so unfair, Professor! Why Kurt? He doesn't deserve this."  
  
"No," Xavier agreed softly. "He doesn't. But there's nothing we can do about it. If we accept that, Belasco will no longer hold any power over us.  
  
"Now, go wake the others—and be sure to keep this quiet. I don't want to start a panic among the students. I'll meet you at the oak tree by Ororo's garden in five minutes. Be prepared. We might have to go into...aggressive negotiations."#  
  
"Yes, sir," Scott acknowledged. "I understand."  
  
Xavier cut the transmission, then leaned back against the headboard, his shoulders sagging and his head lowered. He had known this would happen sooner or later, that Belasco would return. His hatred for the X-Men, and for Xavier in particular, was too deep-seated to lay dormant for long. Xavier just hadn't expected that the prospect of seeing him again would hurt so much.  
  
Shaking those dark sentiments from his mind, Xavier hoisted himself into his electric wheelchair and headed for the door. From what he had gathered from the minds of the two students who had encountered him, Belasco was unconscious. If they worked fast, they could have him securely contained in the sub-basement before dawn. Then...then they would see what happened next.  
  
#This is a Star Wars reference, I believe.  
  
#######  
  
The instant she got Scott's call, Ororo pulled on her bathrobe and called up a wind to lift her from her balcony window. She arrived at the oak tree just as Dr. Hank McCoy opened the side door of the mansion for Scott and the Professor. Ororo frowned, determined to do what she could to help Kurt before they arrived.  
  
Falling to her knees, Ororo quickly brushed Belasco's blood-red cloak aside and reached for his wrist, feeling for a pulse. After a breathless moment, she found one. It was weak, but steady.  
  
Ororo breathed a sigh of relief, then closed her eyes, running a hand through her silvery hair as a confusing swell of mixed emotions washed over her. Was it her fault that he was lying there? What had happened to him? Why had he come?  
  
"Kurt?" she whispered into his pointed ear, glancing up warily to keep track of the others' progress across the lawn. "Kurt, can you hear me?"  
  
There was no response. Biting her lip, Ororo reached out to take his clawed, red hand in hers, noting that once again he had tied his fingers together in twos. She squeezed his palm gently. She wanted Kurt to wake up, yet at the same time she was terrified of what might happen if he opened his eyes and it was Belasco looking up at her.  
  
With a small sigh, she turned her attention to his bandages. It looked like he had been wearing them for days. They were filthy, blackened and frayed at the edges and covered with stains, and they probably weren't very good for his circulation either. Shaking her head slightly she started to undo the knots that kept the soiled cloths so tightly secured.  
  
Barely had she touched his fingers when his eyes shot open, glowing dark gold in the nighttime dimness. He cried out in pain, yanking his hand away from her gentle grasp and pressing it to his chest, curling himself up into a protective ball on the grass.  
  
"Ach, Gott," he gasped, his faintly accented voice hoarse and strained. "It hurts. Ach, Gott, Ororo, it hurts!"  
  
Ororo jumped to her feet, her heart pounding in her chest. "Kurt?" she exclaimed. "Kurt, is that you?"  
  
"Storm!" Scott yelled, running up beside her with Hank and the Professor close behind. "What's wrong with you? Get away from him!"  
  
"Oh, my stars and garters," Hank gasped, staring wide-eyed at the sight before him. The demon Belasco was curled up on the grass, his long tail writhing wildly behind him as he gasped with pain. At that sight, all the Professor's warnings about approaching the demon faded from his mind and his instincts as a doctor took over. Here, before him, was a man in obvious pain. It was his duty to help him, no matter the potential risk he might pose in the long term.  
  
"We must get him to the medbay," Hank said, shooting Xavier a look that dared the old man to object. "You can question him when he's in good enough shape to answer. Scott," he ordered, crouching down beside the demon, "help me carry him inside."  
  
Before Scott could protest, however, the demon had shot to his feet, cradling his one arm carefully against his chest as he backed menacingly into the shadows under the tree.  
  
"Kurt," Ororo said, trying to keep her voice as gentle as possible, "they're only trying to—"  
  
"No," the demon growled, baring his sharp fangs. His glowing eyes burned with a dark flame as he lashed his spaded tail back and forth like a whip.  
  
"Don't you touch me," he hissed to Scott, his russet features tight with pain. "Don't any of you dare touch me!"  
  
"Fine then," Scott snapped back, his own visor glowing dangerously. "If you don't want our help, then go away. Go back to that slum you came from and leave us alone."  
  
The demon glared at him for a moment, his pointed teeth gleaming in the moonlight. Then, to the surprise of all four X-Men, he began to laugh. It was a low, angry sound, completely devoid of humor. Scott found he was backing away despite himself.  
  
The demon's laughter grew louder, swelling until it began to sound slightly deranged. Then, as suddenly and as unexpectedly as it had begun, it stopped. Storm, Cyclops, Beast, and Xavier shared uncomfortable looks among themselves as the demon stepped forward, a terrifying figure despite the awkward way he held his hand against his chest.  
  
"Fool," he spat, his narrow lip curling. "I was such a fool. To think it would be so simple, to...to think..."  
  
He tilted his head back, the bone-chilling laughter starting up again. But this time, it was different. This time, the maniacal cackle sounded almost choked, more like an anguished sob than a laugh. The demon swayed on his feet, the laughter fading as he started to fall. Without thinking, Hank reached out a powerful, blue-furred arm to catch the slender man before he hit the grass.  
  
"Oh my," the large mutant said, looking down at the demon's narrow face. "I do believe he's fainted."  
  
Xavier closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind to make sure that Hank's diagnosis was correct and that the demon wasn't merely feigning unconsciousness.  
  
"Hank is right," Xavier said, opening his eyes once more. "Get him down to the medbay and give him whatever treatment he requires. Remove whatever weapons he may be carrying and put up a forcefield around his bed. I want to be notified the moment he regains consciousness."  
  
Hank nodded, scooping the unconscious Belasco into his thick, furry arms and loping his way back to the mansion. Scott stared after them for a moment, then turned to the Professor.  
  
"What about the kids?" he asked. "Anna and Paul. I told them to wait for you in the foyer."  
  
Xavier sighed. "I'll talk to them. Scott, you go down to the medbay. Make certain Belasco is safely contained. It's not that I don't trust Hank, but sometimes he gets so wrapped up in treating the patient..."  
  
"That he forgets the danger he can pose, I know," Scott nodded, already turning to follow Hank. "I'll see to it."  
  
"Good," Xavier nodded. Then he turned to Ororo. "Storm, I'd like you to—"  
  
"Charles," Ororo interrupted, her expression firm. "I'm going down to the medbay as well. I, too, want to be there when Kurt wakes up."  
  
"Ororo," Xavier said patiently, his cultured voice just a shade short of condescending. "The man we just saw was not the Kurt Wagner we knew—"  
  
"I know that," Ororo snapped, her crystal eyes clouding angrily as her silvery hair began to rise from her shoulders. "And he never will be again, not after all he's been through. But he's still Kurt Wagner, nonetheless. And despite everything he's done, I'm not going to give up on him. He's been abandoned too many times by the people he's cared about most. I'm not about to add my name to the list."  
  
"Storm," Xavier called out, clenching his fist in frustration as she summoned a wind to lift her into the air. "Storm!"  
  
But his cries were futile. Ororo was already gone, leaving him alone to wheel his way back to the mansion.  
  
#######  
  
Oh, wow!!! Thanks everyone for those absolutely AWEsome comments and reviews! I'm so happy you're enjoying my story so much! Your reviews are truly inspiring me. Thank you so much!!!!!!!  
  
Next time on Belasco's Beatrice: Hank's findings are revealed! Stay tuned! :D 


	7. INTERLUDE: A Bit on Belasco

A Bit on Belasco  
  
A number of people have been asking about Belasco and his place in X-Men lore. I'm certainly not an expert myself, but while preparing to write this story I did a fair bit of research so I feel pretty confident that I can give you some basic information.  
  
Before I do that, though, I just want to let you know that my story was only inspired by several of the events shown in the graphic novel Universe X Vol. 2. I say 'inspired' because it only deals with Kurt/Belasco's part of the story and pretty much ignores everything else. The plot for Belasco's Beatrice is completely original, so you don't really have to worry about knowing a lot of background information on the X-Men. Hopefully the necessary backstory will become clearer as the story goes along and pieces of Belasco/Kurt's past are revealed little by little. In order to make it less confusing, though, I'll include notes to let you know which parts I made up, which parts are from the comics, and which parts are based on the biographies of the real Dante Aligheri and Beatrice Portinari.  
  
And now, on to Belasco. I found this information at various sites on the Internet and in Universe X Vol.2. Some of it was contradictory, but I did the best I could to sort it all out.  
  
The character of Belasco made his first appearance in Ka-Zar The Savage #11. He was originally some kind of sorcerer from 13th century Italy. I figure that since he knew Dante and Beatrice, he had to have lived in Florence at some point before 1290. (That was the year Beatrice died. She was 24.)  
  
Belasco apparently suffered from a bad case of pleonexia (the single-minded desire for dangerous knowledge, no matter the consequences). He used his skill at alchemy and 'the dark arts' to make contact with some powerful, demonic beings known as The Elder Gods. He made a rather Faustian deal with them: he'd help them to cross over to Earth from their dimension with the help of the mysterious, magical stones known as 'bloodstones' and they, in turn, would grant him immortality and power. There was a second part to the deal, though. Belasco was supposed to breed a race of demons for them on Earth. To this end, they drastically changed his appearance—hence the red skin, the horns, and the tail. They also gave him a specially forged sword.  
  
In his new, demonic form, Belasco kidnapped Beatrice and took her to a land called Pangea, which had once been inhabited by a technologically advanced race that used climate control to make the place into a tropical recreation center or something.  
  
Dante tracked them down, but he was too late to save Beatrice from her horrific fate. She had been forced by Belasco and died in childbirth. Enraged, Dante fought Belasco in a volcano; a duel that ended when the demon accidentally sliced through an overhead duct with his sword, releasing a gas that froze him instantly (Rather like Boris Grishenko in James Bond: Golden Eye! (little joke. Actor Alan Cumming played both Boris and Nightcrawler in the movies.) ;D ).  
  
Centuries later, Belasco appeared again under unexplained circumstances. He claimed the volcano had become active again, causing him to thaw out. He tried once again to contact the Elder Gods with one of the remaining bloodstones, but he was stopped by Ka-Zar after he abducted Ka-Zar's girlfriend Shanna O'Hara to be his new mate. Ka-Zar threw the bloodstone into the volcano, closing the inter-dimentional rift Belasco had opened and preventing the Elder Gods from coming through. As punishment for this second failure on his part, the Elder Gods trapped Belasco in a dimension known as Limbo.  
  
Time in Limbo is very different from time on Earth. Years there would only be moments here. No one knows how long he was trapped there, but over time he managed to become the absolute ruler of that dimension of demons. There, he encountered, fought, and corrupted an X-Men team from an alternate dimension. Later, he brought the official Marvel X-Men team from Earth 616 to Limbo, where they met the older, corrupted versions of themselves. Then, Belasco proceeded to torment them. These X-Men managed to escape him, but not before he had seized Piotr Rasputin's (Colossus) little sister Illyana. He made her his apprentice and used her soul to make a number of new bloodstones to help him finally succeed in bringing the Elder Gods to Earth. However, this process corrupted the girl and infused her with magical abilities. Finally, when she was fourteen, she turned on Belasco and defeated him, driving him from Limbo so she could take over. She became the powerful sorceress known as Magik, managing to return to Earth mere moments after the X-Men's escape from Limbo. To them, it appeared as though she had aged instantly from an innocent little girl to a powerful fourteen year old. She eventually joined the New Mutants.  
  
Years later, Belasco returned as a threat to the X-Men. This time, however, he was told by the reborn Captain Mar-Vell that he was not really the demon Belasco at all, but a brainwashed copy. His true name was Kurt Wagner, the X-Man Nightcrawler who had been presumed dead after a disastrous confrontation with the Gray Gargoyle many years before. The Gargoyle had tried to trap him and his team in stone. Nightcrawler had tried to teleport away, but he reappeared without his arm or his mutant attributes. Weak and lost, he tried to look for help, but instead was beaten almost to death by a mob of angry mutants. It was then that the demon Mephisto first approached him.   
  
In denial, Belasco journeyed back to the volcano on Pangea, only to find the real Belasco's body was still there, frozen in ice. The Mar-Vell child told the other X-Men what had happened to Kurt, but apparently they didn't approach him. Kurt/Belasco took up residence in the crumbling city slum where I gathered he became something of a vigilante peacekeeper. Although he is still uncertain as to his true identity, he often watches the X-Men from afar.  
  
And that's all I was able to find out about Belasco. Whatever else I need for my story I fully intend to make up. :D  
  
I hope this was helpful! I should be done with Ch. 7 in a few days. Stay Tuned! 


	8. Chapter Seven

Sorry I've been so long, everyone, but what with two summer jobs, three people fighting over one computer, five people battling the on-going telephone vs. internet war, and the 4th of July, I honestly have only had time to write about a paragraph a night. Which really stinks because as soon as I get into it, I have to get off the computer and lose my train of thought entirely! URGH!  
  
I just finished the chapter ten minutes ago, but it's still really choppy to my mind, especially at the end. Unfortunately, I've run out of time to fix it. It's less than an hour to midnight and I have to get up at 4 tomorrow morning to catch a plane to Las Vegas! My Dad's taking me to help fight the Borg Invasion at the Las Vegas Hilton's Star Trek Experience! It's a graduation/birthday present. I'm absolutely bursting with excitement! I really wanted to get this chapter up before I left, though. It's already been a week since I last updated!  
  
I get back from Las Vegas on Monday, so hopefully I'll have time to get started on Ch. 8 then before I have to go back to work on Tuesday. If this chapter really is as confusing and just generally smeggy as I fear, just tell me what you don't like or like about it and I'll make changes accordingly. I think I'll have to re-write the ending anyway because I don't really like the way it came out. I'd really appreciate it if you let me know your opinion of it. Thank you! :-D  
  
P.S. I take full responsibility for any and all mess ups I made with the Italian. I lost my dictionary and didn't have time to go searching for it so I did all the translations off the top of my head. I hope it's not too awful!  
  
And now, without further ado, here is Ch. 7!  
  
Chapter Seven  
  
Ororo stood in the medbay just outside the doorway to Hank's adjoining laboratory. The large, furry mutant had been working steadily for the past four hours, drawing samples and running tests in an attempt to discover not only the reason his patient had lost consciousness on the lawn, but also the truth of his identity.  
  
Ororo sighed, leaning her back against the cold, metallic wall. Closing her eyes, she brought her fingers to her temples and began rubbing in slow, calming circles. Outside, the sun had already risen, warming the nighttime chill from the air and evaporating the tiny, crystalline drops of dew that had collected on the grass. The birds were singing in the trees, the squirrels were chattering, the insects were humming and buzzing. But Ororo couldn't hear them. All she could hear was the mechanical hum of the ventilation system, Hank's distracted muttering and humming from where he was working in the next room, the soft clacking of Scott's shoes as he paced beside their prisoner's bed with slow, deliberate steps. And all of it was overshadowed by the steady, impersonal beeps and hisses from the machines monitoring the unconscious man she alone seemed to believe was Kurt Wagner.  
  
Ororo lowered her head and clenched her fists in angry frustration, struggling to slow her quickening breaths. Breathing in deeply through her nose, she tried to picture herself on the roof of the mansion, looking out over the rustling treetops to the hazy horizon in the far distance. Normally that would have helped calm her so she could focus her thoughts, but today her efforts weren't doing much good. The former weather goddess had been trapped underground in the subbasement for four hours now, surrounded by metal walls and breathing sterile, recycled air; hemmed in by hanging, florescent lights, their impersonal brightness reflecting in the smooth, polished floor... The regular, mechanical sounds assaulting her ears were so loud, so repetitive, so utterly maddening!  
  
She opened her eyes wide, struggling to control the frantic, trapped feeling squeezing her heart as it pounded in her chest. She needed to get out of there, if only for a moment. She needed to feel the sun on her face, the breeze flowing through her hair. This place was too sterile, too cold. It was an airless box, a prison, a tomb. The large space was getting smaller by the moment, and Ororo was finding it harder and harder to breathe...  
  
"Ororo?"  
  
Ororo gave a violent start, turning quickly to face the man who had spoken.  
  
"Oh, Scott!" she smiled with a rather shaky laugh, bringing a hand to her chest as she felt her heartbeat begin to slow. "I'm sorry, I was just.... You startled me, that's all."  
  
Somehow, Scott had managed to come up beside her without her noticing. He was now regarding her with a concerned expression. It bothered the normally stoic elemental to realize her...discomfort...had been so obvious.  
  
"You holding up OK?" he asked softly. Ororo's jaw tightened slightly as she noted how, although he was looking straight at her, he always managed to keep Kurt in his sights. The intellectual part of her knew that it was a necessary safety precaution to make sure that they didn't turn their backs on Belasco for a moment—especially since Hank had insisted the forcefield remain down until he was certain he didn't need any more blood or DNA samples— but emotionally, it galled her to think of Kurt as under armed guard by his own friends. By the Goddess, the poor man was unconscious and he was in pain. He was strapped to the bed and hooked up to machines! Wasn't that enough?  
  
Ororo sighed angrily through her nose, then turned to Scott.  
  
"Yes," she responded at last, her voice calm and steady once more. "I'm fine, Scott. Thank you."  
  
Scott nodded slowly, but Ororo knew she wasn't fooling him for a moment. He knew her and her claustrophobia too well to be put off by her aloof stare. She opened her mouth to say something else, but Scott beat her to it.  
  
"It'll probably be a while longer before Hank comes up with anything," he said in a completely neutral tone of voice. "If you want to go out for a few minutes, you know, get some air...?"  
  
"No," Ororo retorted, a little more sharply than she had intended. She strode over to Kurt's bedside and leaned her arms against the cool, metal railing, not looking at Scott.  
  
"I'm not leaving him," she insisted, her voice softer this time but no less firm. "I won't."  
  
Scott looked like he was about to say something, but he pursed his lips instead with a small nod.  
  
"OK, 'Ro," he said, coming up beside her and following her gaze down to Belasco's russet face. Even with the oxygen tube running over his upper lip and tucked under his chin, now that he could see the demon's features relaxed and calm, Scott had to admit that there was a marked resemblance to Kurt. It wasn't exact, but that might have been because of the different skin color, or possibly the lack of fur...  
  
Scott closed his eyes behind his visor and turned away, a sudden pang tightening his throat.  
  
"You're really convinced it's him, aren't you."  
  
Ororo glanced up, her brow furrowed slightly. Scott didn't say anything more, and he didn't turn back. Ororo sighed.  
  
"I am," she answered softly, looking down at Kurt. She frowned slightly as she noted how swollen and purple his fingers had become. Just looking at them was painful. Ororo longed to touch him, to try to bring him some comfort with her presence, but she was too afraid of hurting him to do more than gently brush a few errant strands of vibrant, red hair from his horned forehead.  
  
"I know he's...unbalanced," she went on, running a hand agitatedly through her own snowy hair as she made the admission. "And I know he's a danger to all of us as he is right now. But I also know he wants our help, Scott. You didn't hear him under the tree. He called out to me."  
  
She swallowed, taking in a shaky breath. "The look in his eyes almost broke my heart," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.  
  
Scott turned to face her, his expression dark. "Belasco is a master of emotional manipulation," he said. "I wouldn't put anything past him if he thought it would suit his purpose. Don't forget, Ororo...he's already attacked you once."  
  
Ororo spun on him, her blue eyes blazing coldly in her mocha face. "Why are you so eager to just write Kurt off like this," she snapped. "You and Charles both! Good and evil aren't always so simple as the difference between night and day."  
  
She frowned, gesturing to the unconscious man strapped to the bed. "Belasco is our enemy, yes. So we must take the proper precautions to protect ourselves. Granted. But Belasco isn't real, Scott. What is real is the fact that our friend has been physically altered and emotionally manipulated by person or persons unknown to the point where he believes he is Belasco. That doesn't make him our enemy, Scott. That makes him a victim. And it is our duty to help him."  
  
"I'm not saying that we shouldn't!" Scott retorted, his visor beginning to glow. "And I'm not 'writing Kurt off' as you say. He was my friend too, Ororo. You're not the only one hurt by all this."  
  
"No," Ororo acknowledged. "But I am the only one who speaks of Kurt in the present tense."  
  
Scott straightened, taken aback. Ororo just glared.  
  
"Contrary to what we were led to believe, Kurt Wagner is not dead, Scott," she snapped. "He's right here, lying on this bed. You just choose not to see him."  
  
Scott tightened his jaw. "Look, 'Ro," he said, forcing himself to remain calm. "I believe you, OK? I'm on your side in this, whether you believe me or not. It's just that, I have to look at this situation from both sides of the equation. I can't afford to let my guard down. Even Charles believes—"  
  
"Charles is a telepath," Ororo interrupted with a scowl. "He knows the truth. He's just unwilling to acknowledge his own mistakes. If he hadn't sent Kurt out to—"  
  
"Where is Dr. McCoy," a deep, commanding voice rang out from the hall, causing both Scott and Ororo to jump in surprise. "I demand to know why I was not notified of this new development! Where is Charles?!"  
  
Scott winced, closing his eyes behind his visor with a low groan. Ororo mirrored his pained expression as Erik Lehnsherr stormed into the medbay, his long cape billowing out behind him.  
  
"So, this is the intruder that was spying on us?" the tall man sneered, leaning over the bed. He frowned when he caught sight of the prisoner's swollen, purple fingers.  
  
"What happened to his hand?" he demanded, spinning on Scott and Ororo as though the unconscious man's injuries were somehow their fault.  
  
"That's what Hank's busy trying to find out," Scott snapped back, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you want to know more, you're just going to have to wait here for his findings, just like the rest of us."  
  
"That's nonsense," Erik scowled, striding across the room to Hank's lab. "I know my way around a laboratory. I'll just—"  
  
"You'll just calm down before you wake the entire mansion," Charles Xavier's even, cultured voice spoke up from behind them. The three mutants turned as the old man wheeled into the room, his expression grim.  
  
"Yes, Erik, as I tried to tell you before you stormed off and broke the mental link, this is the intruder," Xavier explained, still in that calm, even tone. Erik scowled. Xavier ignored him and went on.  
  
"His name is Belasco and he has been an enemy of the X-Men for many years. The reason you were not told he was here immediately is because the situation was not urgent enough to wake you for. As you can see, the demon is unconscious and safely contained." He frowned, turning his sharp gaze to Scott.  
  
"Except for one thing. Scott, did I or did I not expressly tell you to activate a forcefield around his bed?"  
  
"The forcefield is down at my insistence, Charles," Hank spoke up from his lab, poking his furry, blue head around the open doorway. "I'll need to draw a few more samples before my analysis is complete, and I can't do that through a forcefield. I have come up with several intriguing preliminary findings, however, if any of you are interested in hearing what they are." He made a beckoning gesture with his long, bulky arm as he vanished back into his laboratory. "Just come in here, please."  
  
"Scott," Xavier said, "you stand by the door and keep an eye on Belasco. With the forcefield down, I don't want to take any chances. I'll be monitoring him as well." He tapped his temple with a knowing look.  
  
Scott nodded, suppressing a sigh. "I understand, Professor," he said, taking up his position by the door. At least he could still hear Hank's explanation, even if he couldn't see his work.  
  
"Here," Hank said, gesturing to his microscope. "Take a look in there and tell me what you see."  
  
Erik cast a glare at his companions, then strode forward to take the first look. He blinked, then looked again, his hard expression softening to one of amazed bafflement.  
  
"But that's impossible," he stated, turning to Hank. "These cells are dividing at an alarming rate. It's as if they're showing...almost morphagenic properties! Where are they from?"  
  
"Believe it or not," Hank said, "they were extracted from the patient's hand."  
  
"What?" Erik furrowed his brow, stepping back to allow Ororo a look.  
  
"I'm sorry," Ororo said, looking up from the slide of dividing cells, "and I don't mean to sound dense, but I'm afraid I don't understand. What's wrong with him? What do you mean by 'morphagenic properties'?  
  
"In basic terms," Hank explained, "it means his genetic structure is unstable and can be altered at will."  
  
Ororo shook her head in disbelief. "But that can't be right," she said. "I thought only shapeshifters like Mystique could consciously alter their form..." She trailed off, her eyes narrowed in confusion as she looked to the others for help.  
  
"That's true," Hank said, taking up a lecturing position on the opposite side of his lab table so he could face the others as he continued. "But I don't think the physical changes brought on by the genetic manipulation were consciously made in this case. For example, he obviously has no conscious control over what is happening to his hand right now."  
  
"What is happening to his hand, Hank?" Xavier prompted, his brow furrowed.  
  
"Well, the changes are still in their early stages, but I would guess that the bone, muscle, and skin of his first and second fingers are beginning to merge into one digit. The third and fourth digits are likely to follow until his five fingers have become three."  
  
Ororo let out a short, involuntary gasp, her eyes widening slightly. Hank shot her a sympathetic look. "Unfortunately for him, though," he told her, "the morphagenic process is extremely slow and, I'm afraid, excruciatingly painful. But this is mainly because it is not a natural process, as it would be with a true shapeshifter."  
  
"You see," he went on, "somehow, someone has manipulated a dormant morphagenic X-gene in the patient's DNA. Now, this particular gene is recessive, and can only be inherited from the individual's mother. Shapeshifters, particularly female shapeshifters, are extremely rare in the mutant population, and as we all know, Mystique was Kurt's biological mother."  
  
He shot both Charles and Ororo a pointed look. "If there was any doubt before that this man is indeed Kurt Wagner, I believe these singular findings have certainly removed it."  
  
Ororo looked down at Charles, but the old man seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, a deep frown creasing his face. She turned away from him with a soft snort.  
  
"What I would like to know is why," Ororo said, looking straight at Hank. "Why would anyone do something like this to Kurt? Kidnap him, manipulate his genes, brainwash him into thinking he's Belasco?! What could possibly have been the motive?"  
  
Hank shook his furry head with a small sigh. "I don't know, Ororo. But I do know that whoever did this to him has a knowledge of science far beyond our own. Unfortunately, that means I have no idea how they did it and even less idea as to how to reverse it."  
  
"What was it that triggered the gene to start working now?" Scott asked from the doorway, never taking his eyes from their unmoving prisoner.  
  
"I would have to guess extreme emotional stress," Hank responded. "But just in case you're wondering, none of this has anything to do with why he fainted on the lawn."  
  
The others waited for a beat, then Erik rolled his eyes. "Are you going to tell us why he fainted, or are we going to have to drag it out of you?" he asked. Hank shot him a look.  
  
"Kurt—and I use the name because that is who I believe my findings prove the man in the medbay to be," he elaborated with a glance at Xavier, "Kurt fainted because he hadn't eaten a thing in days. He was also severely dehydrated. I've started an IV drip, but once he regains consciousness I want to start him out on some soup, and then maybe some solid food in the evening if he's feeling any better. I don't dare imagine what he's been living on this past year in that slum of his."  
  
Xavier nodded, his expression stern. "He can have his soup in here," he said, "but if he does start to feel better, I want him moved out of the medbay and into a secure holding cell. No matter his true identity, as long as he poses a danger to the population of this school, he will be under armed guard at all times. I'm sorry if this sounds harsh," he continued with a pointed look at Ororo. "But I believe such measures are necessary. I'm not taking any chances with the students."  
  
"I agree," Erik said with a short nod. "The safety of the students is our first priority. After all, if he were to--"  
  
Just then, a sound was heard in the other room. It was brief and strangled, almost like the start of a scream. The four mutants rushed out of Hank's lab to join Scott by Kurt's bedside.  
  
"His eyes just shot open," Scott explained as the others came up beside him. "There wasn't any warning or anything."  
  
Hank put his thick, furry finger against the red man's neck, then shook his head with a frown.  
  
"I was afraid of this," he said. "It seems to be a side effect of the merry havoc that mutagenic X-gene is playing with his system. His pulse is racing and his metabolism is rising exponentially. The tranquilizers I gave him should have lasted twice as long as this."  
  
"What can you do for him?" Ororo asked, looking down at the thrashing, moaning Kurt with deep concern.  
  
Kurt turned his head to look at her, his golden eyes wide and bright with fever and pain.  
  
"Beatrice," he whispered hoarsely, reaching out to grab her wrist with his tail. Ororo gasped slightly as the red, spaded tip wrapped around her arm. "Mi dispiace, Beatrice. Tu sei il mio cuore. Tu mi credi? Mi dispiace!"  
  
"What is he saying?" Ororo asked, a frantic note creeping into her voice as he started to sob, the hot tears trickling down his russet cheeks and onto his pillow.  
  
"I think it's Italian," Scott observed.  
  
"Why would Wagner be speaking in Italian?" Erik asked, furrowing his brow. "I always thought he was German."  
  
"He is," Xavier said. "But Belasco is not."  
  
At the sound of Xavier's deep, cultured voice, Kurt tried to sit up, straining against his restraints as he shouted, his tail lashing wildly in agitation.  
  
"Padre?!" he exclaimed, his golden eyes blazing with fury and streaming tears. "Perche, Padre? Perche Beatrice?!"  
  
"Should I raise the forcefield?" Scott asked, rushing over to the control station on the far wall.  
  
"No," Xavier responded, catching and holding Kurt's fevered eyes with his own. There was something there, something behind the turmoil and the madness, beyond the confusion and the pain. He could almost see it, the memory of a sunny, spring day, crowds of people in colorful clothing walking up and down narrow, cobbled streets...  
  
The images were lost as Kurt tore his eyes away from Xavier's, turning instead to Scott and Hank. "Io non sono un demonio," he said, his voice weak and trembling after his previous outburst. He was losing energy fast, his eyes already drooping with exhaustion as he fell back against his pillow. "Azazel! Io non sono un demonio!"  
  
"Azazel?" Erik repeated, confused. "Who or what is that?"  
  
Scott narrowed his eyes behind his visor. "Isn't Azazel—"he began.  
  
"Kurt's biological father, yes," Xavier finished for him.  
  
"Do you think he has anything to do with all this?" Ororo asked, keeping her eyes firmly on Kurt as he slowly drifted back into restless unconsciousness.  
  
"If my suspicions are correct, Azazel has a great deal to do with this," Xavier said, wheeling up closer to Kurt's bedside and reaching out to place his hand against his horned forehead. "Unfortunately, the only answers are locked up inside Kurt's head. And with the chaotic state his mind is in, I don't think even he knows how to find them."  
  
"What are you going to do?" Hank asked with a slight frown as he watched Xavier smooth Kurt's wavy hair until the red-skinned man stopped his restless thrashing and his breathing began to slow.  
  
"I'm going to scan his mind," the old man explained, his voice soft and calm. "It should only take a moment. I won't go deep. But if this works..."  
  
He trailed off, closing his eyes as he established a telepathic link with the unconscious Kurt Wagner.  
  
And that's all I've got at the moment. Now, I'm off to bed and then to Las Vegas! Roller coasters, horseback riding, Klingons, and Borg await! :-D 


	9. Chapter Eight

Hi Everyone! I'm back! :-D I just want to say that Las Vegas was AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!!!! I saw real, live acrobats for the first time in my life! They flew directly over my head at the Circus Circus Midway! One of them tried a triple and fell, though, but luckily there was a net! Otherwise, I would have been squashed. I was directly under her!  
  
I won $7 at the slot machines too, which was pretty cool! (I actually got carded twice, but luckily I had my driver's license to prove I'm 21! I think my hair makes me look younger than I really am because it's so very long.) At the Hilton, where we stayed, they have this space themed casino with these slot machines that you work by swiping your hand through a laser beam! They built a little mock-up of the DS9 Promenade, too, complete with Garak's Tailor Shop and Quark's Bar! I told a Ferengi there how to fix a malfunctioning replicator--he didn't know the right tool to use--and shook hands (arms, rather) with a Klingon! I even saw Spock's Vulcan Lute--the one he played in 'Charlie X' while Uhura sang--and Data's Emotion Chip!!!!!!!! I proved myself a true Star Trek nerd by bringing my own pair of Vulcan ears with me and wearing them when I had my picture taken on the bridge of the Enterprise D. I wanted to sit in Data's chair, but it's off limits, unfortunately. You're only allowed to sit in the Captain's chair.  
  
I went on every single roller coaster on the strip--including Speed and the High Roller, which is on top of the Stratosphere tower! That was FANTASTIC!!!!!!!! My Dad and I went into every casino and played at least one slot machine, spending about 25 cents in each of them. I won free tickets to a magic show, but unfortunately we couldn't use them because they were for the day we left. We saw the water show at the Bellagio from the top of the mini Eiffel Tower at Paris, and I won a Puss in Boots doll from Shrek 2, a stuffed tiger, and a stuffed bear at the Circus Circus midway. The games were all really cheap! Most of them were only 50 cents! It was VERY unlike Atlantic City, which is pretty seedy, actually, and WAY more expensive. The Boardwalk games there are up to $5 a throw!  
  
The horseback riding was SO COOL! It was a two hour ride through the desert guided by a real, live, honest-to-goodness cowboy and followed up by a BBQ steak dinner! WOW! My horse's name was Bay Lady, and she always kept wanting to go faster. She was great! The whole trip was great!  
  
I'd hoped that once I got back on Monday I'd have some time to write more on this story here, but it didn't turn out that way. Sorry! I had to do a lot of unpacking and cooking and watching Star Trek after I got back, then the next day I had to work. All day. Ug. Then the next day I had to work again, and when I got back home Dad was on the computer making up tests for his class, then my brother needed the computer and then Mom needed the phone and on and on and on. Blah. Then, on Thursday we all had to pack in the car to drive down to New Jersey to see my sister's graduation from Coast Guard Basic Training. That was something else. She played the cymbals in the band, which was neat because she's really a violinist. I play the piano, so I played the glockenspiel in my high school band. Those things are HEAVY! The graduation was really well done and we got a tour and everything which was neat. On the way down, though, we stayed overnight in Atlantic City and that's how I know it's really rather nasty compared to Las Vegas. The buffet at the Taj Mahal was pretty awesome, though. Crab legs and shrimp heaven!  
  
And so, after all these travels, I'm finally back home and on the Internet, no less! :-D Not only that, but your wonderful comments allowed me to stake a firm claim on the computer both yesterday and today! So, if it wasn't for you, this chapter probably wouldn't have been up for at least another four days! Thank you so much! :-D  
  
And now, without further ado, here at last is Ch. 8!  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
Charles Xavier was renowned as the foremost telepath in the world. Needless to say, he was familiar with the workings of individual minds and how to safely navigate his way through their myriad thoughts, desires, and memories without losing his own identity and purpose. However, even he with all his vast experience found himself instantly lost the moment he entered the raging chaos that had overtaken the mind of the man with whom he had just linked.  
  
The noise and light and color was overwhelming as it pressed against his psychic presence, rushing by him in a raging gust that left him reeling and off balance. The closest thing to which he could compare the disorienting experience was viewing a moving carousel at night through an unfocused camera lens. Brief flashes of faces flew past—laughing, screaming, gentle, terrified, cold, cruel, furious, anguished, shining with love... They were the faces of strangers and friends, each flash accompanied by a sharp pang of loss, sorrow, or hurt.  
  
Xavier gasped, struggling to pull himself out of the crushing throng, to rise above the swirling colors. He tried to calm himself, to focus his concentration, but there was no opportunity. Voices came from nowhere and everywhere, speaking in a cacophony of different languages. Fleeting images and turbulent emotions vied for his attention, slipping around and through him like ghostly specters. The images pummeled him, knocking him back, then forward, then to the side, pressing up against him then vanishing into nothingness.  
  
It was so easy to get lost there, so easy to lose his purpose. His focus was fractured, his thoughts muddled and unclear. Half smothered and desperate to catch his breath, Xavier suddenly found himself falling. Without warning, the surreal lights, the laughter, the screams, and the ghostly faces battering his psyche disappeared, leaving Xavier to tumble helplessly through whirling landscapes and buildings, mountains and fire and blackness, dank dungeons, bustling cities, and quiet rooms. The light of the sun and stars, the chill of the pale moon, incredible heat and biting cold assaulted his senses, spinning him dizzily until he had lost all sense of direction.  
  
Disembodied and terrified, Xavier curled his psychic self into a protective ball, squeezing his arms against his ears as he laced his fingers tightly behind his bald head. A strange prickling, tingling sensation began to creep along the edges of his mind, like a million tiny insects crawling their way through the growing cracks in his mental shields. Xavier opened his eyes wide in horror, his mouth stretching until the delicate skin of his lips nearly broke with the strain of his silent scream. He was lost, alone; trapped in the mind of a madman with no body to ground him and no way out. His shields were crumbling, his sense of identity growing weaker as he continued to fall. Xavier was truly in danger of losing himself forever.  
  
At that realization, all pretense of rational thought left him. Without any consideration for the potential danger to himself or to Kurt, Xavier instinctively gave in to the whispering need to deepen the mental link until he could feel the stabilizing influence of his host's body pulsing around him. The heartbeat was fast but steady, the breathing slightly labored but regular. There was pain also, astonishingly intense—a burning, biting, stinging ache—but it was distant, muted by the painkillers Hank had administered.  
  
Xavier forced the body to fill its lungs in a deep, shaky sigh of relief as he felt his focus slowly begin to return. Now he had a body to steady him, the creeping tingle of encroaching madness quickly faded, allowing Xavier to gradually come back to himself; to recall his identity and his purpose.  
  
"Kurt's hand," he whispered to himself, stretching out to follow the pain to its source as he felt his memory begin to clear. "The genetic manipulation. I was hoping to find out who was responsible. I was trying to discover what had triggered that change in Kurt's hand."  
  
Xavier smiled to himself as he spoke these words, relieved and delighted at how quickly and how well he seemed to be recovering from his nearly fatal experience. However, with his shields still weak, his own thoughts weren't the only ones he could hear. The subconscious mind is a busy place, crowded with thoughts, memories, and dreams. Barely had he begun to regroup, when a new voice caught his attention. It felt almost as though it was calling to him specifically, but Xavier knew that was just his imagination.  
  
The voice was soft and deep; the patient voice of a teacher. It spoke in German with a subtle, foreign inflection Xavier could not quite place. Even though he had never heard this voice before, he found he knew at once who it belonged to. It was the voice of Sabu, Kurt's childhood mentor and the closest thing he'd had to a father while growing up.  
  
Xavier closed his eyes and concentrated on the soft voice, only one among dozens of others chatting and singing and crying and laughing. He followed the voice like a guiding light, carefully loosening his link with his host's body as he moved deeper and deeper into his unconscious mind.  
  
The light was coming from a large, brightly colored tent hung with brilliant flags and posters inviting spectators in three languages to come see the Great Sabu perform his death-defying acrobatic feats without a net. Xavier tilted his head slightly, regarding the cloaked man on the posters with some curiosity. He was tall, lean, and dark with intense, coal-black eyes and wavy hair to match. His neat, pointed goatee and moustache leant him an eerie, sinister air. Looking at the drawing, Xavier was reminded of an illustration he had once seen in a book of fairy tales; an illustration of an evil sorcerer.  
  
The muffled voice was coming from within the tent. Curious, Xavier pushed the heavy tent-flap aside and walked into the enormous, popcorn-scented space beyond. A short, burly man was sweeping litter out from under the stands. He gave Xavier a suspicious look, then nodded him over to the center ring. Xavier nodded back, then made his way to where the burly man had indicated. There, an even shorter, hunch-backed man was examining the safety net with the eyes of a concerned professional. He glanced up to the small, square platform high above and Xavier followed his gaze to see two shadowy figures crouched there, one large and the other small. A trapeze was hooked to the support pole within easy reach of the two figures and another was hanging still and motionless over the net from the darkness at the very top of the tent.  
  
It took Xavier a moment to recognize the larger figure as the man he had seen on the posters outside. Out of costume, the Great Sabu was far from sinister. His shiny hair was tousled and his intense eyes were kind as he looked down at his much younger companion; a small boy who, to Xavier's eyes, couldn't be more than three or four years old.  
  
"Don't worry," Sabu was saying in his deep, patient voice. "The net is here to catch you. Just remember what I taught you and keep your mind on the task ahead. There is nothing to fear, my boy. Once you find the courage to take this first leap, I know you will make us all proud."  
  
"And then I can fly?" the dark little boy asked with a slight, childish lisp, flashing his large, white teeth in a broad, excited smile. "Like Margali said?"  
  
Sabu laughed, a warm, affectionate sound. "It is very like flight," he said. "But it is more a feeling of freedom, of liberation. You will no longer be bound to the ground, but you will become a creature of the air, of grace, and of beauty. There is no feeling to compare, you will see. Now, why don't you give it a try, yes?"  
  
The small boy rose to his feet, his eyes wide and glowing with excitement mixed with apprehension. It was then that Xavier noticed his tail. As the boy carefully unhooked the large trapeze, his short, stubby tail wrapped itself around his mentor's arm. Sabu smiled, then gently unwrapped it.  
  
"I think you'll be needing this, don't you?" he said.  
  
"That's mine," the boy announced, pulling his spaded, indigo tail from his mentor's hand and lashing it back and forth a few times as he took hold of the trapeze with both three-fingered hands.  
  
"Sabu?" he said, turning his head to look back at his mentor once more. But, Sabu was no longer there.  
  
Xavier gasped, suddenly realizing that he was now standing where Sabu had been, high, high, high above the ground. He sat down at once, curling his fingers tightly around the edge of the platform as a wave of disorientation and vertigo washed over him.  
  
"Oh, Professor!"  
  
Xavier's eyes shot open and he looked up at the sound of that familiar, accented voice. Kurt Wagner was grinning down at him, no longer a child but a young man. Xavier stared despite himself. Kurt looked just as he had when Xavier had first met him all those years ago, when the talented acrobat had been little more than nineteen years old.  
  
"What are you doing here?" the young man was saying. "Have you come to see my last performance?"  
  
"Oh...erm...yes," Xavier nodded, forcing himself to keep his eyes on Kurt's face in order to prevent himself from looking down. "Yes indeed."  
  
"Das ist wunderbar!" Kurt beamed. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Professor. Sabu came back from Russia just for this show, did you know? He is going to be my partner."  
  
Kurt blinked a few times, lowering his head as his smile took on a slightly melancholy tinge. "They're all... They're all really sorry that I'm going. I wish I didn't have to."  
  
He clenched his fist, his narrow features tightening in anger though his golden eyes glowed with pain. "But there is no way that the Incredible Nightcrawler will ever become a part of that verdammt Amerikaner's freak show," he proclaimed with a lash of his long, powerful tail. "He may have bought my circus with his Texas millions, but he doesn't own me. And that's why Amanda and I are going away, right after this performance. Who knows...perhaps we can start our own circus, ja? In America, no less."  
  
"Perhaps," Xavier echoed, though his attention was no longer on Kurt. He thought he had caught a glimpse of red out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he furrowed his brow, scanning the shadows for the malevolent form he knew to be there.  
  
There! Two glowing, yellow eyes peering at him out of the dimness at the top of the tent. Squinting his eyes, Xavier could just make out the cloaked intruder's silhouette, frowning as he saw his long, spaded tail wrap around the sturdy ropes and wires that held the second trapeze securely in place. The professor could almost swear he saw the sinister figure grin at him, but before he could react there was a flash of steel and Xavier's world dissolved into blinding, white light.  
  
Suddenly, his ears were assaulted by a thousand cheers as a band began to play far below. Cautiously opening his eyes, Xavier found he was now standing in mid-air at the exact level of the trapeze. The stands were filled to capacity, the excited spectators overflowing into the sidelines and almost out of the tent as they craned their necks to get a last look at the famous Nightcrawler. Kurt himself was standing on the platform with Sabu, the two of them smiling as they shared a warm embrace. The older man's hair was longer now, as was his beard, but his eyes...his eyes were just the same.  
  
Just then, the spotlight turned on the two acrobats. Gradually, crowd hushed and the dramatic drumroll began.  
  
Sabu clapped Kurt heartily on the back, then broke their embrace with one last grin. Turning to face forward, the seasoned acrobat grasped his trapeze, watching intently as a third man standing on the far platform threw the second trapeze out to swing freely through the air. Timing his movements carefully, Sabu climbed up onto the second rung of the ladder running through the center of his own platform and jumped off, building momentum as he swung until he released the bar and curled in his legs, performing a perfect double aerial somersault before catching hold of the second trapeze and gracefully pulling himself up into a sitting position.  
  
As the crowd burst into applause, Kurt grabbed the swinging trapeze and climbed up to the third rung of the ladder, watching carefully while Sabu twined his legs around the ropes of his own trapeze and let go of the bar so he was hanging upside down with his arms outstretched, ready to catch his star pupil. He smiled at Kurt, a proud twinkle in his dark eyes as he watched him prepare for the jump.  
  
Just then, Sabu's trapeze gave a shuddering lurch, causing him to twist dangerously as he swung through the air. He tried to reach up for the bar, to try to steady himself, but the trapeze lurched again, more violently this time. There was a loud SNAP, and then Sabu was falling, crying out in alarm and growing terror as he tumbled through the air toward the hard ground far below.  
  
"NO!" Kurt screamed, his young voice breaking as he teleported instantly to his mentor's side. But he was too late to catch him. Sabu landed head- first with a horrible, sickening sound, his body twitching as it bounced once with the impact, then skidded to a stop through the sawdust that littered the ground.#  
  
Kurt fell to his knees beside him, shaking all over as he screamed in horror and denial, streams of hot tears leaking from his golden eyes. He stretched out a tentative hand to touch his mentor's shoulder, then paused, his eyes widening in a horror of a completely different kind.  
  
Everything froze, the world coming to a complete halt as Kurt stared at his hand. Xavier found himself suddenly at his side, watching his numb expression as the young man shook his head weakly in mute denial. Slowly, Xavier followed his stunned gaze down his fuzzy, blue arm until his eyes rested on his outstretched hand. Rather than the familiar thick, blue digits he had expected to see, Xavier saw the powerful, taloned hand of Belasco.  
  
Kurt blinked, flexing each of the five, russet fingers in turn, unable to believe that they were his.  
  
"Nein," he whispered, his trembling voice barely audible even to Xavier. "Nein, this is not right. This can not be right!"  
  
The red was spreading up his arm now, his short, fuzz-like fur falling away as a sudden, chill wind began to blow. It rustled through Sabu's wavy hair, changing the course of the small trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth and down his pale cheek.  
  
"No! It is not possible!" Kurt screamed, leaping to his feet as they too began to change. A pair of blood-red leather boots appeared below a sweeping, russet cloak as the young man backed away from his mentor's still form. "Not another death, Belasco, bitte! Not another friend!"  
  
He turned away in anguish, unable to face Sabu any longer. His long cloak swirled behind him as he pressed his one hand to his streaming eyes, his shoulders shaking with violent sobs. When he spoke again, his voice was different than it had been before. It was deeper, harsher, and his formerly pronounced accent was now little more than a faint inflection.  
  
"How can this be my fault?!" he snapped angrily. "I did not kill Sabu! I loved him! I loved him!!"  
  
Xavier stared at the distraught demon before him, not quite sure what to do. The transformation was complete now, all the way to his sharp horns and his crimson hair. Yet somehow, Xavier could still see Kurt behind the demon's yellow eyes, as a faint shadow softening Belasco's hard features. It was to him that Xavier finally spoke.  
  
"Kurt," he said softly, stepping up beside the sobbing demon until he was standing at the periphery of his line of sight. The russet-skinned man turned on him, his golden eyes glowing dangerously despite his tears.  
  
"Charles," he hissed with a sneer. "What are you doing here? No, wait. Don't tell me. You've come to offer your assistance? Your sympathy perhaps? Or maybe you've just come to try to convince yourself that I am, indeed, Kurt Wagner."  
  
"Is that who you believe yourself to be?" Xavier asked in the same calm tone he'd used before, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the demon's face. The demon scowled angrily, his sharp fangs gleaming in a way that made Xavier feel distinctly uncomfortable.  
  
"Get out of here," he growled. "Leave me alone!"  
  
"I don't think that's what you really want," Xavier observed. "You want answers. Answers only I can help you find."  
  
The demon's eyes widened, then he snarled, his one hand reaching for the hilt of his sword.  
  
"You smug, sanctimonious bastard," he roared, his eyes flashing with hatred. "Your clever little mind games won't work on me. Not anymore. So take your know-it-all speeches and your holier-than-thou attitude and get out of my head! I don't need you, and I don't want your help."  
  
"But you do, Kurt," Xavier said gently, taking a half step closer to the fuming demon. "Otherwise, why would you have come back to the mansion after all this time? What could you possibly have been looking for, if not yourself?"  
  
The demon stared at him for a long moment, his expression hard and unreadable. Then, he spun on his heel, his cape billowing out behind him as he strode off into the growing blackness.  
  
"Kurt!" Xavier called after him, stretching out an arm as though that would halt his progress. "Kurt, I don't want to trick you! I don't want to hurt you or use you or trap you. I came here to find out the truth about what happened to you. I believe the answers are here somewhere, but you and I both know that neither of us will be able to find them alone."  
  
Kurt was still walking, but Xavier knew he had heard him. He sighed, his heart aching as he tried one final time to reach his former friend before he disappeared entirely.  
  
"Kurt," he said, his voice soft and sincere. "I—I realize that I've used you in the past, and there is no excuse for that. I know that there have been times when I have abused your trust and your love. I know you have no reason to trust me now, and I'm not asking you to forgive me for what I've done. But I care about you, Kurt, and I do want to help you. You can't know how much it hurts me to see you in such pain—"  
  
"How much it hurts 'you'?" Kurt repeated incredulously, stopping in his tracks and turning to face the professor once more. "How much it hurts YOU?" He laughed; a cold, angry sound, his long tail twitching behind him as he spoke.  
  
"You have no idea what true pain is, my dear Professor," he sneered darkly. "You know," he said, a thoughtful tone to his voice, "you are one of the most selfish, self-centered creatures I have ever met, and I have met many. And you are right. I have no reason to trust you. You are an unwelcome intruder into my private thoughts, Charles, and—for the record—the intrusion is not appreciated."  
  
"I understand that," Xavier acknowledged, raising his eyes to meet Kurt's. "And I will leave if that is what you truly wish. But I will not abandon you. Your struggle is my struggle, Kurt. You don't have to fight Belasco alone."  
  
Kurt blinked for a moment, caught off guard by the Professor's sincere words. Then, he scowled. "Belasco may be your enemy," he snarled, "but he is my problem and his actions are my responsibility."  
  
"Granted," Charles nodded, taking a few steps closer to the malevolent figure glaring at him through the shadows. "But how did he come to be your problem, Kurt? Why should you have to carry the guilt of his actions in your heart?"  
  
"Because..."  
  
Kurt turned his head, closing his glowing eyes in a futile attempt to block out the Professor's presence. "I wasn't strong enough to stop him," he whispered through a tight throat. "I just lay there in the dimness of my own mind and let him take over." He frowned, his brow furrowing in self- loathing mingled with strong defiance. "But not anymore."  
  
He opened his eyes again, then strode forward, closing the distance between himself and the Professor.  
  
"I will not be manipulated again," he declared. "Not by you, not by Belasco, not by anyone. While it is true that I do not know how this happened to me, I do know that this body is mine, and I mean to have it back just as it was."  
  
"And I am offering to help you do that," Xavier said, letting the taller man see the truth in his eyes. "It is clear that we both want the same thing, Kurt. But in order to accomplish anything, we are going to have to work together."  
  
Kurt narrowed his eyes at Xavier, his expression suspicious, yet lacking the cold animosity of before.  
  
"I will consider it, Professor," he said at last. "Now leave me. And I warn you, the next time you enter my mind without my consent, I will not pull you out of the midden mire. Belasco is easily awoken, and I am not ready to face him quite yet."  
  
"The midden mire?" Xavier repeated, confused. Then he remembered the chaos that had met him when he had first linked with Kurt's mind, dragging him down until he had nearly lost himself to the swirling madness. His eyes widened as he looked up at the russet-skinned demon, seeing him in a new light.  
  
"You saved my life."  
  
Kurt just looked at him, expressionless. "I did."  
  
Xavier's lips twitched into a small smile. "Thank you, Kurt," he said warmly, clapping the taller man on the shoulder.  
  
Then, before Kurt could react, Xavier withdrew himself from his mind, leaning back in his wheelchair and opening his eyes. He was still smiling as he turned his head to face Ororo.  
  
"You were right," he said to her, his smile widening at Scott's confused expression. "You were right, Ororo. He truly is Kurt Wagner. And he does want our help."  
  
#Sabu's demise is based on the events seen in Excalibur #-1, Flashback: A True and Terrible Sacrifice. Belasco was responsible for the horrible death of Kurt's mentor. 


	10. Chapter Nine

I'm so sorry for the delay everyone! Work ate me and it only just now spat me out again. #grimace# Eww, there's a nasty picture!  
  
I've been trying to put this chapter up since Tuesday, but people kept calling me away and I never got to! Then, when I tried earlier today, I kept getting a message saying the computer couldn't connect to the site! But now everything seems to be OK and I can post it at last. Yeah!  
  
As requested, here are the translations for all the Italian Belasco was shouting back in Ch. 7. I'm sorry I forgot to put it in before. I was in a real hurry to finish up that chapter before I left on my trip and somehow I left it out.  
  
"Mi dispiace, Beatrice. Tu sei il mio cuore. Tu mi credi? Mi dispiace!" Translation: I'm sorry, Beatrice. You are my heart. Do you believe me? I'm sorry!  
  
"Padre?! Perche, Padre? Perche Beatrice?!" Translation: Father?! Why, Father? Why Beatrice?!  
  
"Io non sono un demonio! Azazel! Io non sono un demonio!" Translation: I am not a demon! Azazel! I am not a demon!  
  
And now, on with the show! Thanks for reading, and for your patience with me! :-D  
  
Chapter Nine  
  
Jean Summers paid the taxi driver, then stood back as he drove away, hefting her purse over her shoulder and pulling up the handle to her wheeled overnight bag. She smiled slightly as she cast her gaze around the peaceful grounds, drinking in the rich, earthy smell of sun-warmed grass before turning to face the mansion.  
  
Jean was in an unusually good mood that morning. Her speech had gone over surprisingly well at the medical conference, and she was looking forward to discussing several of the new theories that had been put forward there with Hank, Charles, and Erik. The lecture involving the use of telepathy to assist coma patients had been particularly exciting...  
  
A twig snapped to her left, the sharp sound momentarily shattering the tranquil backdrop of rustling leaves and birdsong. Jean spun at once, dropping her bags and falling unconsciously into a defensive posture, her mind on full alert. Someone was there, watching her...a psychic presence tingling just at the edges of her shields. He was moving towards her, coming from the direction of Ororo's garden...  
  
Jean's eyes widened and she straightened, her lips twitching as she suppressed a sudden bubble of laughter. There, ambling his leisurely way through the thick grass, was a sleek, black goat. He turned his long face towards her, regarding her through large, blasé eyes, then continued on his way across the grounds.  
  
Jean gave a small smile, shaking her head at herself as she took up her bags once again and headed up the stairs for the front door. All her years as an X-Man had made her slightly paranoid, it seemed. For a moment, she could have sworn she'd felt a man was watching her from behind that old oak...  
  
Scott opened the door a moment before Jean had dug her keys out of her purse, the telepathic bond they shared having alerted him to her arrival without her even having to contact him.  
  
"Welcome home!" the spectacled man grinned, opening his arms wide. Jean stepped into them, bags and all, squeezing him tightly in a brief, though warm, embrace.  
  
"How was your trip?" Scott asked, pecking her on the cheek before letting her go. He took her free hand as they started down the hallway, the wheels of Jean's bag surprisingly loud as they bumped off the carpet and onto the old, hardwood floor. "You were smiling when I opened the door, so I assume you had a good time."  
  
Jean shot him an enigmatic smile, then asked, "Since when do we have a goat?"  
  
Scott furrowed his brow. "A goat?" he repeated, as if unsure he'd heard her correctly.  
  
"Yes, a goat," Jean confirmed. "I saw one just now, wandering across the grounds."  
  
"Well, it's not ours," Scott said. "At least, not as far as I know. Maybe it ran away from one of the farms down the road. Or it could even be some eccentric millionaire's escaped pet." He smirked at his own suggestion. "Hey, you never know."  
  
Jean just shrugged. "Maybe. And in answer to your question, I did have a wonderful time at the conference, thank you. What's for breakfast?"  
  
Scott raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to ask how things have been around here while you were gone?"  
  
"I don't have to," Jean said, leading Scott into the kitchen and releasing his hand as she made a bee line for the refrigerator. "I know something happened. But tell me later, after I've eaten something. They didn't have a meal service on the plane and I just couldn't face fast food that early in the morning."  
  
"I think breakfast is still going on in the dining hall if you don't mind eating with the students," Scott told her. "I could take your stuff upstairs for you."  
  
"Could you? I would really appreciate that, sweetie," Jean smiled, abandoning the refrigerator in favor of gracing her husband's lips with a kiss.  
  
"Mmm," she sighed, closing her eyes briefly. "It's good to be home. It feels like I've been running on nothing but adrenaline for the past two days."  
  
"Then you go get some breakfast," Scott said with a soft smile. "We can talk more once you've refueled. Here, let me take those for you."  
  
He reached out a hand and Jean gave him her purse, her lips twitching slightly as he slung the effeminate accessory over his broad shoulder.  
  
"Thank you, Scott," she said, her smile sincere as he grabbed the handle of her overnight bag and started out the kitchen door.  
  
"No problem," Scott assured her. "Just meet me in the conference room when you're done eating, OK? We've got a lot we need to talk about."  
  
#######  
  
Most of the breakfast platters were empty by the time Jean made her way to the long buffet table at the side of the room. The eggs were gone, as was the French toast, but there was still enough sausage, bacon, pancakes, and cantaloupe left to make a decent meal. Jean quickly loaded her plate, adding a generous dollop of cottage cheese to the top of her melon slice, then she scanned the tables to find a place to sit.  
  
The long room was still pretty full, seeing as most of the students preferred to sleep late on Saturdays. Jean kept her shields up as she picked her way through the chattering, laughing crowd, smiling and nodding whenever one of the children called out her name in greeting. Finally, she reached the half-empty table she had been aiming for.  
  
"Hope you don't mind if I sit down," she said to the small group of students huddled at the far end, taking a seat before they could answer.  
  
"No, it's OK, Dr. Summers," Paul Carter assured her, glancing over to Anna, who was flushing a pale shade of green. "Did you just get back?"  
  
"Mm hmm," Jean nodded, swallowing a large mouthful of sausage and pancake. "Just walked in the door five minutes ago. I hope you didn't miss me too much in class on Friday."  
  
"Dr. McCoy showed us a video," Anna said politely. "About white blood cells and diseases and things. It was very interesting."  
  
Jean looked over at her, a knowing gleam in her eye. "I'm sure," she said, taking another bite of breakfast. "And you all completed that essay afterwards?"  
  
Anna, Paul, and the two other students, Holly and Adam, nodded with a few low mumbles. Jean smirked behind her napkin, amused. She was about to say something more, when a sudden burst of frustration filtered through her lax shields. Jean furrowed her brow as she turned her gaze in the direction the frustrated annoyance was coming from. Anna was shooting Paul a significant glance, her orange eyes wide. Paul gave her a helpless look, his yellow, reptilian eyes darting over to indicate Jean, his expression one of warning. Jean frowned, suddenly suspicious. These kids were hiding something--something potentially dangerous--and they clearly couldn't wait for her to leave. Taking a sip of coffee, Jean composed her features. She didn't want to let them know she was on to them quite yet.  
  
"So, I hear there was a little excitement around here last night," she said easily, apparently more interested in her cantaloupe than their responses.  
  
Paul elbowed Adam, who gave a startled jump, then turned to Jean with a forced smile and a rehearsed line. Jean, however, was more interested in the nearly silent exchange taking place between Anna and Paul.  
  
"See, she knows," Paul hissed to Anna, his voice so soft Jean had to drop her shields almost entirely in order to hear his message. "I told you it was a bad idea."  
  
"We were the ones who found him," Anna whispered back. "We have a right to know what's going on with him. We should at least be allowed to know the guy's name!"  
  
"I know, but Professor Xavier warned us not to tell anybody what we saw. If he finds out we were planning to sneak down to see him, so soon after last night—"  
  
"Paul, shut-up! She's looking at us!"  
  
"She wouldn't read our thoughts...would she?"  
  
Jean winced slightly, but she made sure that her eyes were on Adam by the time Paul turned his head.  
  
"So all you know is that someone was walking around the grounds last night," she said thoughtfully, repeating the line Adam had fed her as though she had been paying attention. "Well, that doesn't sound too serious to me."  
  
"Yeah," Holly agreed. "It's probably nothing."  
  
Jean smiled, rising from her chair and picking up her plate and mug. "Well, it's been a pleasure, kids, but I'm afraid I have to go. See you in class."  
  
"Bye, Dr. Summers," the teens chorused. They sounded pleasant enough, but Jean could swear she felt their eyes following her all the way out of the dining hall.  
  
#######  
  
Jean held a short debate with herself once she was safely in the empty corridor. She knew Scott would be waiting for her in the conference room, but Anna and Paul's clandestine conversation had gotten her curious. No doubt Scott was planning to tell her all about the mysterious trespasser they were apparently hiding in the subbasement, but Jean suddenly felt an irrational, almost childish impulse to see the stranger first, to form her own opinions and judgments of the unknown man Anna and Paul had discovered running around the grounds before being influenced by anyone else's conclusions. Besides, if she was lucky, she might get a chance to try out some of the new, less-intrusive mental probing methods she had learned at the conference without having to go through all the trouble of running them by Charles first.  
  
Jean shot a quick glance behind her to make sure the corridor was really empty, then strode directly for the elevator to the subbasement.  
  
#######  
  
"Hello?"  
  
Jean poked her head around the door to Hank's office, only to see a hand- painted wooden sign reading 'Out To Lunch' hanging over the back of his chair by a length of rough twine. Jean turned away with a pointed smirk, very much aware of how Hank reveled in the double meaning of that sign. He put it up whenever he left his office, whether he was actually going to lunch or not. Since she hadn't seen him in the dining hall or met him in the elevator, she had to assume he had just stepped out for a breath of fresh air. That suited Jean perfectly, though. The fewer distractions she encountered down here, the less suspicious Scott would be when she arrived late.  
  
"This is very immature of you," Jean mentally scolded herself, although she couldn't suppress the tiniest smile. "Bypassing all the proper channels, skulking around your own lab like a guilty student. What would Hank say if he came back and saw you like this?"  
  
Jean shook her head at her own uncharacteristic behavior, but she didn't let her growing sheepishness deter her from her goal. She'd ostensibly come to the medbay to see the mysterious trespasser before anyone could bias her opinion of him, and that was precisely what she intended to do.  
  
The large room was silent except for the rhythmic beeps and hisses from the machines monitoring the stranger's vital signs. The unconscious man was lying on his side in one of the three hospital beds with his back to the door. A crisp, white sheet was shielding him from her view except for the back of his head. Whoever he was, the fiery red of his hair was a rival to Jean's own. This was hardly unusual, however, in a world populated almost entirely by mutants.  
  
Jean strode directly up to him, reaching out a hand to adjust the sheet so she could get a clearer view of his face. She gasped as an unexpected jolt of electricity stabbed at her fingertips before she could come within two feet of the sleeping stranger.  
  
"Yow!" she exclaimed, jumping back. "A forcefield!"  
  
She frowned, shaking her tingling hand in annoyance. "Who the heck is this guy to warrant such warm hospitality?"  
  
Jean looked around, but there was no sign of the 'patient's' chart anywhere. Her frown deepening, Jean turned back to the stranger, her suspicion growing by the moment. Making sure she was standing a safe distance away from the forcefield, Jean stretched out her hand again, using her telekinesis to fold down the stranger's sheet.  
  
The man shifted in his sleep, mumbling softly as he buried his face deeper into the pillow. Jean scowled. She was determined to at least find out this man's name before she left to meet Scott. She cocked an eyebrow then, smiling slightly as a sudden thought occurred to her. It looked like she was getting a chance to try out some of those new techniques after all.  
  
Jean took in a deep breath through her nose, relaxing her shoulders as she brought her mind into focus. Her telepathy was strong, but nowhere near the level of Charles Xavier. Even a light scan required her full concentration, particularly if the mind she was scanning was that of a stranger. Finding out something as deeply ingrained as his name shouldn't be too hard, however. Closing her eyes, Jean took a moment to recall the exact method Dr. Oesi had outlined at the conference, then stretched out with her mind, smoothly entering into the stranger's thoughts...  
  
Jean furrowed her brow, confused by what she was sensing. There was a strange kind of duality present here, almost as though she was reading two individuals rather than one. Puzzled, but intrigued, Jean headed for the stronger of the two, shivering slightly as thoughts and memories she could barely sense brushed by her like so many ghosts.  
  
The landscape that met her mind's eye was dark and barren, but somewhere in the near distance, a dim light was glowing. Jean shifted direction to follow it, passing over craggy cliffs and lifeless plains. The air was stifling and stagnant, and the reek of brimstone grew stronger the farther in she traveled.  
  
The light was closer now. Jean slowed her progress, suddenly cautious as she saw something moving in the flickering light, its shadow obscuring the sharp rock formations that littered the parched, cracked ground—  
  
"Stop!"  
  
Jean spun around, her green eyes widening in terror. A tall, russet-skinned man in a blood-red cloak was striding towards her, his short, sharp horns reflecting the flickering light, his long, narrow face made all the more intimidating by the shadows. It was a horrific, nightmarish image; an image so deeply terrifying that Jean found herself suddenly unable to think. She was frozen, as helpless as a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. She was unable to speak, unable even to scream as the monster strode right up to her. He towered over her like a vampire from a movie, and all Jean could do was cringe.  
  
"Go away! Get out of here, now!" the menacing demon was shouting, his intense, yellow eyes glowing furiously in the dimness.  
  
"You idiot!" he roared. "You arrogant little--!" He cut himself off with a snarl, clenching his fist in a terrified desperation too strong to be expressed through words. He ground his sharp teeth, shooting her a glare that could have cut through stone.  
  
"Don't you realize the danger?! Don't you know where you are?! Get out now, while you still can!"  
  
Jean backed slowly away from the livid demon, her eyes nearly round, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. She knew where she was now. She knew the reason for that forcefield. She had entered the mind of a demon, and now Belasco himself was standing over her.  
  
The demon's face contorted with infuriated frustration at her continued silence. Before she could react, he reached out with his one, powerful arm and grabbed her by the elbow, wrenching her after him almost violently. Jean cried out in pain, but the demon ignored her. He was running now, his tail beating at his cloak as it billowed out behind him. Jean followed as best she could, stumbling over the uneven ground even as she struggled to free her arm from his vice-like grip.  
  
"Let me go!" she gasped, twisting her body and clawing at his fingers with her free hand. "Let go of me!"  
  
The demon stopped in his tracks, his glowing eyes positively deadly as he lifted her off her feet and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.  
  
"I have worked too hard to regain control to have you ruin it all now through your ignorant stupidity!" he growled, holding her securely as he resumed his running. "What was Charles thinking, sending you in here? I warned him, I told him..."  
  
He snorted, bearing his sharp teeth. "I should have known better than to trust that bald fool. He always thinks he knows better than anyone else. He knows nothing!"  
  
He turned his head slightly, addressing her now. "Listen to me," he barked, his harsh voice sharp and intense. "I will take you to safety, but then you must leave, understand!"  
  
The reality of her situation was slowly beginning to penetrate through the blinding terror that had gripped her before. Belasco had her trapped. He was speaking to her, obviously trying to manipulate her, while all the time he was carrying her away to God only knew where at an alarming pace. She had to escape and quickly, before he reached his destination where he would no doubt have her completely at his mercy.  
  
The demon's long tail was swaying below her, just out of her reach. Concerting her movements with the jarring rhythm of his steps, Jean reached down and grabbed the sinewy appendage, yanking it as hard as she could.  
  
The demon howled in startled pain, dropping her as he arched his back, reaching behind himself to grab his throbbing tail with his red, three- fingered hand. Jean grinned in triumph, jumping to her feet and racing back the way they had come. She had to find someplace to hide. She needed to compose her mind again. She needed to find her focus if she was to escape.  
  
There! A cave! Jean raced into the darkness, leaning against the cold, damp rock wall as she fell into a crouch on the ground. She gasped for breath, struggling to control her breathing and calm her racing heart as she worked to focus her concentration. She had ended up much farther in than she had ever intended to go. It would take a great deal of effort to get herself out and back into her own body, and she had to do it fast, before Belasco could find her.  
  
"Jean Grey," a deep voice rumbled from out of the darkness, smooth and smug and oozing with curdled charm. Jean's head shot up in alarm, her heart starting its pounding all over again.  
  
"Or should I say Jean Summers?" the voice went on in a musing tone. "You did actually marry that spectacled stiff, didn't you?" He chuckled. "Well, there's no accounting for taste, I suppose. Please believe me, my dear, when I say you are certainly looking your age this morning."  
  
Jean glared, even though she couldn't see the man who was mocking her. She knew that voice, though...  
  
Just then, her eyes widened as, suddenly, everything fell into place. The strange duality she had sensed, the fear she had seen flickering behind her kidnapper's angry eyes—"  
  
"Oh, God," she gasped. "He only had three fingers..."  
  
The smug voice broke out into cold laughter, a cruel cackle in the darkness. "Feeling a bit foolish now, are you? And so you should. For, my aging beauty..."  
  
Jean gave a little cry of alarm as the cave was suddenly flooded with a bright, flickering light—the very light she had been following when she had first arrived. She looked up to see an imposing, red-skinned demon sitting tall and confident in an enormous throne carved high into the craggy rockface at the back of the cave. Jean found herself backed against the wall, a deep fire pit surrounding her in a smoky, flickering half-circle. The heat was incredible, and the awful stench of brimstone was nearly suffocating.  
  
"...you have run from your savior's arm, only to fall directly into my trap," the demon finished with a broad, toothy grin.  
  
"NO!" a familiar voice cried out from beyond the flames. "Jean!"  
  
"Ah, if it isn't my old friend Kurt Wagner," Belasco said, turning his smile to face his horrified double. "How's the tail? I saw what she did to it." He gave a mock wince, his glowing eyes twinkling with dark amusement. "That must have stung."  
  
"Let her go, Belasco!"  
  
Belasco gave a pointed yawn, rolling his golden eyes. "Out of my sight, little freak," he said breezily with a dismissive wave of his five-fingered hand. "You bore me with your clichéd posturing. This is my realm, and you have no power here. If you keep quiet, though, I just might let you watch while I make those X-Freaks pay for what they have done to my body."  
  
"It's not your body," Kurt retorted angrily, his tail lashing like a whip as he clenched his three-fingered fist. "And the X-Men had nothing to do with what happened. My hand had been aching long before I went back to the mansion and you know it."  
  
"Irrelevant!" Belasco growled. "I will not be anyone's prisoner. And you will not stand in my way."  
  
Belasco made a fierce gesture with his hand, and suddenly Kurt was standing next to Jean, trapped in place by a wall of fire and smoke. Kurt glared through the flames, snarling dangerously as Belasco once again burst into laughter.  
  
"I know you think you have me trapped," Kurt snapped, "but don't forget that this is my mind too, Belasco. This may be your 'realm'," he snorted at the word, "and from what I've seen so far, you're welcome to it. But I'm afraid Jean and I won't be staying for the show."  
  
With that, Kurt grabbed Jean's hand and leapt straight into the rock wall. Jean barely had time to scream before the two of them were enveloped by a sudden wave of roaring blankness.  
  
Next time on Belasco's Beatrice: A peek into Belasco's mysterious past! Stay tuned! :-D 


	11. Chapter Ten

Thanks for pointing that out for me, Quill of Molliemon! That's really strange. I did put section dividers in this chapter. Somehow, they must have disappeared. Peculiar, that. But I have been having so much trouble trying to post this chapter that I'm not really surprised. I'm going to re-upload this chapter again. Hopefully it'll work this time! I'm glad you think Belasco's memories are cool!!! :D  
  
Chapter Ten  
  
Scott glanced up at the conference room's elegant grandfather clock for the fifth time in as many minutes. It had been well over half an hour since Jean had gone to get her brunch, during which time he had called together the senior faculty members to help him with the briefing. Now, they were all waiting for the person for whose benefit this meeting had been called, and Scott wasn't the only one starting to get just the slightest bit...antsy.  
  
"What on earth can be taking her so long?" he muttered to himself, crossly brushing an imaginary dust speck from the immaculately polished table.  
  
"Perhaps she is caught up in a conversation with one of the students?" Hank suggested with a small shrug, looking over to Ororo. The elemental shook her snowy head, her blue eyes concerned.  
  
"No," she frowned, "it is not like Jean to loose track of the time like that. Maybe I should go down to look for her."  
  
"I'd give her a few more minutes," Erik said, leaning back in his chair. "It was a long flight, after all. Perhaps she wanted to...freshen up?"  
  
Scott shot him a look from behind his glasses, then turned to the Professor. "Look, I don't know what it is but I just have the feeling that something is wrong. I'm with Ororo on this. It's not like Jean to keep us waiting."  
  
The Professor nodded slowly, his brow furrowed and his lips a narrow line. "I am not sensing any kind of disturbance," he noted, "but I agree that we have waited long enough. Scott, go find her. If you do happen to run into any trouble, however—"  
  
"I'll contact you at once," Scott nodded grimly, already rising from his chair. "Give me five minutes. I'll be right back."  
  
Ororo looked like she was about to stand as well, but she apparently thought better of it and remained in her seat. Scott gave her an understanding look—which was completely obscured by his ruby-quartz glasses—then quickly crossed the large room, closing the heavy, wooden door behind him.  
  
#######  
  
Scott was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he nearly plowed straight into a small group of four chatting students who were just leaving the dining hall. Stopping short, Scott blinked in surprise as the students let out an alarmed shout.  
  
"Oh, Mr. Summers!" Anna gasped, her pale cheeks flushed a brilliant shade of green. "I'm sorry! We...we just didn't see you there...!"  
  
"Did any of you see my wife in there?" Scott asked with a gesture towards the nearly empty cafeteria behind them.   
  
"Yeah," Adam nodded, his coarse, silvery skin almost sparkling in the sunlight streaming in through the window at the end of the hall. "She sat at our table. But she left a while ago."  
  
"How long ago?" Scott inquired, trying to keep his growing concern from his voice. "Did she happen to tell you where she was going?"  
  
The uncomfortable looks the students were sharing did nothing to assuage Scott's fears. He frowned, his demeanor growing almost threatening as he crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
"Well?" he prompted.  
  
"We don't know where she went," Anna stated, her gaze steady as she looked Scott straight in the glasses. "She left, like, maybe around ten minutes ago. We talked for a while when she was eating...you know, about class and the homework she'd left for us and stuff. And that was it." She frowned. "Why, is something the matter?"  
  
Scott shook his head, his lips tightening as he exhaled sharply through his nose. "No," he told her. "I was supposed to meet her when she was done eating, that's all. Only thing is, I haven't been able to find her yet."  
  
"Well, she's got to be somewhere," Holly smiled, although her expression seemed oddly strained.  
  
"Good luck with your quest, Mr. Summers," Adam joked, moving to walk past him so he could continue on his way down the hall. "But we promised to meet some kids outside for a game of baseball, so..."  
  
He trailed off, as if waiting for Scott's permission to leave. Scott furrowed his brow suspiciously. From the way they were acting, it was clear that these kids were not on their way to an innocent baseball game. They were definitely up to something, and Scott believed he could guess what it was.  
  
"Thanks," he said as the teens turned to make their escape. "And I won't keep you from your game, don't worry. But just remember—"he added, causing the students to turn back to him with slightly wary expressions. He smirked, shooting them his best 'I'm on to you' look. "The medbay—in fact, the entire subbasement—is off limits to all students for the time being. It will continue to be off limits until I specifically tell you otherwise. Am I understood?"  
  
The students seemed to deflate almost as one. Anna squeezed her orange eyes tightly closed, hissing something through her teeth that sounded almost like a swear. Scott's smirk deepened. Gotcha...  
  
"Yes, Mr. Summers," the four teens mumbled.  
  
"Now go on, get out of here," Scott said with a playful, shooing gesture. "Go get some fresh air. I'll make sure you're updated if there are any breaking developments—if you catch my meaning." He would have winked, but he was quite aware it would be a meaningless gesture.  
  
Anna's bright eyes widened until they were almost round. "Really?!" she exclaimed excitedly.  
  
"As long as you promise not to poke your noses where they don't belong," Scott said sternly. "I don't need to tell you how serious a security violation of that magnitude would be...or how strictly it would be punished."  
  
Paul swallowed nervously, turning to Anna with wide, yellow eyes. Anna didn't seem to notice his reaction.  
  
"OK, Mr. Summers, we promise," she said. Then she turned to the others. "Come on, guys. You heard what the man said. Let's get out of here!"  
  
Scott shook his head as he watched the students leave, wondering whether he should warn the Professor about what they had been up to. He had just dismissed the concern as unnecessary when a thought occurred to him that froze him in place. If Jean had picked up on their all-too-obvious plans to break into the medbay and spy on their intruder—  
  
Suddenly, he realized what the disquieting feeling that had been setting him on edge almost since he had left Jean actually was. His mental link with her, their special telepathic bond...he couldn't feel it. That could just mean that her shields were up and particularly strong, but why would she need such strong shields in the mansion? Unless she had gone to see the intruder by herself. But, he had called Hank away from his post! There would be no one down there to warn her...to stop her...!  
  
Scott scowled darkly, firmly suppressing a sudden, chill burst of guilty dread as he ran as fast as he could for the elevator to the medbay.  
  
#######  
  
Kurt Wagner burst through the taut film that separated him from the light glowing just beyond, the terror of the empty blankness that had been pulling at him, clawing at his clothing and his sensitive tail still roaring in his ears. He squeezed his thick fingers tighter around Jean's slender hand, giving a sharp yank as he helped her push through as well.  
  
Jean coughed and panted, desperate for air as she leaned unabashedly against Kurt's shoulder for support. She was trembling, her legs as weak as water as she struggled to come to terms with what had just happened.  
  
"That," she gasped, "was not normal."  
  
"What wasn't?" Kurt asked with a sardonic raise of his eyebrow. "Getting us both trapped in Belasco's little mini-Limbo because you were too frightened and pig-headed to listen to me?" He snorted. "What's so abnormal about that? Happens all the time."  
  
Jean glared, then sighed. "OK, maybe I deserved that," she acknowledged curtly. "But that wasn't what I meant. That weird...nothingness that we just passed through. That funny filmy stuff we had to break through to get...wherever we are now. I have never sensed anything like that before. It strikes me as..."  
  
"As what?" Kurt pressed, his churlish attitude unable to completely hide his curiosity.  
  
"As unnatural," Jean finished with a dissatisfied frown. "As...I don't know...as artificial somehow. And it's not only that."  
  
She shook her head, squinting her eyes as she struggled to put her feelings into words. Kurt just watched her, his narrow features carefully expressionless as she went on.  
  
"None of what I have seen so far feels like it belongs to you; that it originated from you," she said, knowing her words were wholly inadequate even before she noticed the confusion darkening his golden eyes. "If you weren't here with me now, I could almost swear I had entered the mind of a different person all together."  
  
"You have," Kurt scowled, his caustic tone causing her to take an unconscious step back. "This hasn't been my mind for a very long time now. Belasco is the one in control here. He has been for...well, for more years than I really care to count. And for all that time, I have been nothing more than a shadow, a ghost, if you will, of the man you knew as Kurt Wagner, haunting Belasco's twisted thoughts. At least that is how things were...until she came." He turned away from her, closing his eyes as if in pain.  
  
"Until she...?" Jean shook her head, not understanding. "Who is 'she'? What do you mean, Kurt?"  
  
The russet-skinned man opened his mouth as if to speak, but he shut it again almost at once, his eyes widening as he caught sight of something over Jean's shoulder. Jean turned around, her own eyes widening in amazement as she followed his startled gaze.  
  
"Oh, my God," Jean gasped in startled amazement. "Where are we?"

The two mutants were standing in the shade of an abandoned awning on the outskirts of a bustling city square. The lunch-time crowd that had flooded the open-air market was just beginning to let up as the shopkeepers and businessmen finished their meals and wrapped up their conversations, strolling off to resume their work. The sun was starting to peek out from behind the clouds that had previously shrouded it; its fresh, spring-time light making even the cramped, litter-strewn alleys of the medieval city seem vibrant and picturesque.  
  
"I don't know," Kurt responded, his eyes almost round as he drank in the impossible sight before him. "If I were to take a wild guess, I'd say this was Florence, but it looks very different from the last time I was there with the circus. Almost unrecognizable, in fact."  
  
"Then what makes you think this is Florence?"  
  
Kurt turned to her almost absently, too distracted by the people and the noise to actually focus on her. "Because," he said, "Belasco was originally from Florence. He was a contemporary of the poet Dante Alighieri."  
  
Just then, he gave a sudden start, his tail twitching as a disturbing thought occurred to him.  
  
"Jean," he exclaimed, "can these people see us? Can you tell if Belasco knows we're here?"  
  
"I'm not sure," Jean said, concerned. "Why do you ask?"  
  
"Look at that tall man heading for the bridge," he pointed. "Who does he remind you of?"  
  
Jean looked from the tall, dark-haired man to Kurt, then gasped in alarm as she noted the uncanny resemblance.  
  
"Oh, God," she breathed. "Do you think he could be Belasco in disguise?"  
  
Kurt frowned, keeping his eyes trained on the tall man and his shorter companion.  
  
"Perhaps," he mused, his expression softening slightly as he watched the tall young man laugh with his friend. "Or perhaps he is the man Belasco was before he became the demon we know."  
  
"Should we follow him?" Jean asked.  
  
Kurt looked at her then and almost smiled. "Do you really think I would blend into that crowd, Liebling?"  
  
Jean stiffened slightly at that last word, her heart clenching in her chest. She stared at the russet-skinned man before her, feeling that she was seeing him for the first time. And it was the first time that she truly recognized him as her old friend and teammate. Slowly, she smiled back, struggling to hide her reaction behind a shaky laugh. This really was Kurt, and he was alive!  
  
"Well, like you said, this is your mind, isn't it?" she replied. "Couldn't you try to change your appearance, like in a dream?"  
  
Kurt looked startled by the suggestion. "I don't really know," he said thoughtfully. "I've never tried it on purpose before."  
  
"Well, try it now," Jean said, glancing back at the two men. "If we stand here too long, we're going to lose them."  
  
Kurt nodded, his face taking on a look of total concentration as he stared at Jean. The telepath was just about to protest, when she noticed a change in her clothes. Looking down, she saw her slightly rumpled business suit had been replaced with a colorful gown similar to the gowns many of the women in the market were wearing. She grinned in astonishment, but when she looked up to praise Kurt she was startled to see a pale man with dark hair, dark eyes, and a long, aquiline nose looking back at her. He, too, was dressed in medieval garb.  
  
"Basil Rathbone," the man explained with a somewhat self-conscious smile. Then his smile turned slightly sardonic. "I haven't been feeling much like an Errol Flynn character of late."  
  
Jean was surprised to feel her eyes stinging as she brought her hand to her mouth. "No, it's perfect, Kurt," she told him through her fingers, unable to completely hide her smile. Acting entirely on impulse, she stepped forward, wrapping the taller man in a tight embrace. Her unshed tears nearly fell when she felt him return it.  
  
"What—"Kurt started, then he cleared his throat, pulling away from her with a slightly suspicious frown. "What was that for?"  
  
Jean just shook her head, her lips still twitching as she fought to reign in her emotions. "Come on," she said, stepping out from under the awning and into the bright sunlight. "Let's go after those two men before they get away."  
  
#######  
  
Kurt and Jean caught up with their quarry just as the two men reached the old bridge. Trying to make themselves as unnoticeable as possible, the eavesdroppers leaned over the railing, ostensibly engaged in watching the water flow by as they surreptitiously listened in on their neighbors' conversation.  
  
"Listen to me, my friend," the taller of the two men was saying, a playful smile quirking across his pale, narrow face. "You have been holed up with your dusty scrolls and papers for far too long. I say enough with the poetry and the politics! It's time for you to have some fun."  
  
"No, Brunetto, you listen to me," the shorter man snapped. "You don't seem to realize that I have a great deal of important work to do. If I ever hope to be eligible for a political office in this city, I first must enroll in the guild of physicians and apothecaries. And that requires a great deal of hard work and responsibility—something you would know nothing about."  
  
"Pish," Brunetto retorted. "Your responsibilities can certainly wait an hour for you to return to them. Of what use will you be to the great city of Florence if you starve yourself of sunshine, life, and laughter—not to mention food. Did I mention food? Because I don't know about you, Dante, but I need my lunch and a glass or two of good wine before I can even think of returning to work."  
  
"I wouldn't exactly call what you do 'work'," Dante snorted with a scornful sneer.  
  
Brunetto clasped a dramatic hand to his heart. "Ow! My friend, you wound me with your biting words. Of course what I do is work. Do you think it's easy trying to decipher the mysteries of the universe? And if, in the meantime, a few lovely ladies or exceedingly rich gentlemen decide they would rather their silver necklace or their copper buttons were made of gold, who am I to deny them?"  
  
"Your brand of alchemy is nothing more than a scam, Brunetto, and you are nothing more than a cheap con artist."  
  
"I object to the word 'cheap' being used to describe me," Brunetto frowned, haughtily drawing himself up. "I am a very expensive con artist. Lord knows those rich snobs can certainly spare the cash. And there is real gold dust in the paint I use." He waved off the look Dante shot him. "Besides, I only do that to help fund my real work; my research into how and why the world was made and what comes afterwards once we leave it."  
  
"God made the world," Dante snapped. "And His kingdom is what awaits us after death. That is all you need to know or to worry yourself over. Unless, of course, you would rather spend an eternity in the Inferno for your continuous blasphemies."  
  
Brunetto quirked an eyebrow. "If the Devil agreed to answer my questions, I might just consider it worth it."  
  
Dante stared, his mouth slightly open. "Do not talk that way, Brunetto Donati, not even in jest." He shook his head. "Honestly, if you weren't my wife's cousin—"  
  
"Oh, come off it," Brunetto smirked with a laugh. "You know we make a great pair—you with your dreaming and I with my scheming. And speaking of scheming, look who just stepped onto our bridge."  
  
All color drained from Dante's pale cheeks as his eyes followed his friend's gesturing hand. He drew in a short, shaky breath, barely managing to gasp out a single, reverent word as he clasped a trembling hand over his thumping heart.  
  
"Beatrice!"  
  
"Right on the first guess," Brunetto grinned. "Beatrice Portinari, the unfairly beautiful young wife of that sickeningly wealthy banker who has in his charge all my father's accounts. At least, all the accounts of the man my mother claimed to be my father."  
  
He snorted a brief burst of derisive laughter. "Did you know the ugly old fossil has actually promised that when I finally reach the so-called 'responsible' age of thirty he will include me in his will? Isn't that kind of him after twenty-odd years of pretending I don't exist? Knowing my father, though, I'll probably inherit the family cat."  
  
Dante shot him a wry smirk, clapping a supportive hand on his friend's shoulder. "Well, Brunetto, I for one hope you're right."  
  
His friend looked down at him, seeming almost surprised. "About the will?"  
  
Dante's smirk deepened. "About the cat."  
  
"Ha," Brunetto retorted with a sniff, shaking away Dante's hand. "You're getting quite witty in your old age, my friend."  
  
Dante opened his mouth to make a come-back, but Brunetto startled him with a sudden grin.  
  
"But enough of this talk," he said brusquely, straightening his coat and smoothing his shiny, black hair. "Come on, let's go say hello."  
  
"Brunetto, no! Wait!"  
  
But Brunetto was already sauntering up to the small group of young ladies standing just across the way.  
  
"Buon giorno, Signora Portinari!" Brunetto said with a gallant bow, pointedly ignoring his friend's distress. "It is a lovely day, is it not?"  
  
Beatrice smiled, quickly lifting a pale hand to smother a giggle as her small entourage of richly dressed ladies gasped and blushed at the young man's shamelessly forward behavior.   
  
"Indeed it is, signore," she responded, politely lowering her eyes. "It's wonderful to see the sun again after all the rain we've had recently."  
  
"Ah, yes," Brunetto nodded sagely. "The weather has been quite trying of late. But enough about the weather," he proclaimed, jumping up to sit on the bridge railing. "Let's talk about me."  
  
Beatrice looked up in startled amusement. "About you?" she repeated.  
  
"More precisely," Brunetto corrected, reaching out to take her hand in his and press it to his chest, looking deep into her eyes, "about us. I love you, Beatrice. I've always loved you. I want you to leave your husband and run away with me. Please say you will!"  
  
Beatrice's entourage seemed unsure whether to laugh at this outrageous display or to shout in indignation. Beatrice solved their dilemma for them by demurely removing her hand from Brunetto's grasp a moment before he brought it to his lips for a kiss.  
  
"As much as I enjoy our little chats, Signore Donati," she said primly, drawing herself up with the smallest of smiles. "I really can't waste any more time in the company of a rogue such as you. You may have no thought for your own reputation, my brash scoundrel, but to a lady such as myself, honor is everything."  
  
"My lady, your words are as wise as they are painful," Brunetto said with a theatrical sigh. "So, once again I am rejected. My heart must now seek its comfort from the arms of another." He jumped down from the railing, landing right in the middle of Beatrice's entourage. "Any of you girls interested?" he asked with a wink.  
  
Dante cringed in sympathy as Brunetto suddenly found himself assaulted by a dozen hands, three fans, and a bouquet of spring flowers all slapping and hitting and pushing him away, but both men were laughing even so—as were the girls who weren't shouting out their own rejections and insults against Brunetto's character. Mere moments later, the girls were gone, leaving Brunetto, Dante, and their two clandestine spectators alone in the middle of the old bridge.  
  
"If only she weren't married, eh Dante," Brunetto sighed, nudging his friend playfully as he leaned over the side to watch the water flow under the bridge. After a moment, Dante walked over to join him.  
  
"You treat the lady with a familiarity that is neither warranted nor proper," he said softly. "And I don't think it's right."  
  
"She doesn't mind," Brunetto smiled, although he didn't look up. "None of them do, really. If they did, I would probably have been fined or banished or locked in irons or something long ago. If you ask me, I think they rather enjoy the attention."  
  
"It's still not right," Dante insisted. "She had a point when she spoke of her honor. You risk everything she has playing foolish games like that. We aren't children anymore, Brunetto. Even words said in jest can carry weight."  
  
Brunetto stared at the sparkling water, his expression tight and serious. Then, without warning, he slapped his hands against the railing, forcefully shoving himself upright as he turned on his heel and started to march away.  
  
"You're right," he called over his shoulder, all trace of good humor gone from his voice. "It's not a game anymore. In fact, it never was. I've got to get back to my laboratory."  
  
"But what about our lunch—?"Dante started.  
  
"I'm not hungry," Brunetto called back. "I'll meet up with you some other time. Good day, Dante."  
  
"OK...I guess I'll just see you later, then," Dante said softly, his expression baffled and concerned as he too turned away and started walking in the opposite direction from his friend.  
  
"What do you think all that was about?" Jean asked, stepping away from the railing with a baffled expression of her own.  
  
Kurt regarded her. "Clearly, they are both in love with the same unattainable woman," he said. Then he smirked. "For a telepath, you aren't very perceptive are you?"  
  
Jean's green eyes flashed. "I already told you that this place, these memories seem artificial somehow," she said slowly, trying to keep up her calm demeanor. "And what we just saw only confirmed that impression. I don't know if it's me or a side effect of that strange duality I sensed before, but watching those people was like watching a scene being played out on TV. There was no emotional presence there to sense. They may as well have been holograms or cardboard cut-outs for all I could tell."  
  
Kurt frowned, his dark eyes suddenly disturbed. "And what about me?" he asked, sounding almost nervous. "What do you sense when you look at me?"  
  
Jean closed her eyes, taking in a deep, calming breath as she narrowed her focus. "I sense guilt...anger...fear...pain..." And something else. Something so deep and strong she had nearly missed it. A shimmer of white against the sun, slender brown hands guiding blue as they dug into rich soil... Jean opened her eyes, looking into Kurt's disguised face with a carefully unreadable expression  
  
"And hope," she finished at last, tilting her head slightly. Could it be that Kurt was harboring an 'unattainable' love of his own? How long had he been hiding these feelings? Did Ororo know?  
  
Jean shook that thought away, afraid he might become angry if he realized what she had just seen. "Your presence here is real, Kurt," she assured him. "Real and solid. The rest of this..."  
  
She trailed off, gazing around the medieval city with a frustrated shake of her head. "What happened to you all those years ago?" she said softly, slowly turning back to look at him. "Who could have done this to you?"  
  
"Xavier said the answer was in here somewhere," Kurt told her, tapping his temple with a long finger. "All I have to do is find it."  
  
"All 'we' have to do, you mean," Jean corrected. "And I think the best place to start would be that Brunetto's lab."  
  
"I agree," Kurt said. "Except for one thing." He straightened, shooting her an imposing glare. "I'm going alone."  
  
"Now wait one minute—"  
  
"Look, Jean, I don't know what Charles was thinking when he sent you in here and I don't care. Your presence here is a liability I can't afford, and I want you out. If I even have a hope of regaining control from Belasco, I'm going to need—"  
  
"You're going to need help," Jean cut in with a frown. "And before you start blaming Charles for this whole mess, know this first. Charles didn't send me in here, Kurt. He doesn't even know about it. I came on my own." She shook her head, embarrassed. "I don't even know why I did it, to tell you the truth," she admitted sheepishly. "It was a foolish, ill-advised move on my part—"  
  
"I'll say!" Kurt exclaimed, his pale face flushing angrily. "Not only did you wake Belasco, forcing me to go into hiding again, but you nearly got us both killed! If I hadn't—"  
  
"And I thank you for that," Jean interrupted again before he could finish the thought. "You went out of your way to rescue me—twice!—even after all the stupid things I said and did. But now I have an opportunity to return the favor. Let me help you, Kurt. Let me prove myself as much a friend to you as you have always been to me."  
  
"It's not as easy as that," Kurt snapped, running a frustrated hand through his black hair. "Belasco is looking for us even now, and if he finds us that fire-pit will be the least of your worries."  
  
"All the more reason for us to get going," Jean said, giving his hand a gentle pull as she started walking in the direction Brunetto had gone. "If we keep moving, it will be harder for him to locate us."  
  
Kurt glared for a moment, then shook his head with a slight sneer. "I'm not going to get rid of you, am I?" he stated more than asked.  
  
"I'm not leaving you, Kurt, if that's what you mean," she said firmly. "Like it or not, we're in this together. Now, let's go find Brunetto. He has to hold at least some of the answers to all this or else his memories wouldn't be here, now would they?"  
  
Kurt still looked conflicted, but Jean could tell her words had touched him. A moment later, he confirmed that impression with a small smile, a smile that came and went so quickly that if she hadn't been looking for it, she would have missed it.  
  
"Then come along, meine Freundin," he said brusquely, leading the way towards an open doorway across the cobbled street. "Follow me."  
  
Jean nodded, striding after him into the blackness without hesitation. Once she was inside, Kurt grabbed her hand, startling her.  
  
"Hang on tight," he warned her. Before she could react, Jean suddenly felt herself falling, tumbling helplessly through the same horrible, blinding nothingness they had passed through after escaping from Belasco's trap. But this time, she held on to Kurt's hand out of trust instead of fear—and she knew he noticed the difference.

#######

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Beatrice Portinari is a real historical figure. Her father was a Florentine citizen and she married a wealthy banker. She died in 1290 at the age of 24. According to Boccaccio's life of Dante, the poet first met her when they were both nine and they met maybe once after that in 1283 on May Day. She became the subject of many of his poems.  
  
Dante became a member of the guild of physicians and apothecaries in Florence and became actively involved in politics at the age of thirty. This story takes place shortly before Beatrice's death, though, so he's not in the guild yet and so not eligable for office.  
  
I chose the name Brunetto for Belasco because the philosopher and scholar Brunetto Latini probably had an influence on Dante's education and also because _Brunetto_ looks kind of like _Belasco_ if you squint. I made his last name Donati because Dante's wife had a relative named Corso Donati, and I thought it might be interesting to for Dante and Belasco to have family ties as well as being friends--especially considering what happens to them later on.  
  
Thus concludes the Author's Notes for this chapter. :D Stay tuned for Ch. 11!


	12. Chapter Eleven

Hey, Everybody! Ch. 11 is done at last! :D Things have been so insane at home lately I've hardly even been in the computer room for days! But I stayed up late last night and finally got this chapter done. Yes!  
  
And now... Brunetto summons the Elder Gods and Belasco's true relationship to Kurt is revealed! (Well, according to this story anyway. ;D ) Enjoy!

Chapter Eleven  
  
Ororo Munroe pushed her chair back from the conference table and strode over to the large window. The slowly growing tension as the gathered X-Men waited for Scott to return with Jean was causing the room to feel somewhat stuffy, and Ororo needed some fresh air.  
  
Scott had been gone for nearly fifteen minutes now and Ororo was beginning to worry despite herself. Judging from the expressions on the faces of her colleagues, they were feeling much the same way. There was probably no cause for concern, but Ororo knew none of them would feel better until they actually saw Jean walk into the room.  
  
Pulling back the curtains a little further, she opened the window, closing her eyes for a moment as she felt the refreshing breeze brush against her face. Her garden was just visible from this vantage point, as was the large oak tree where they had found Kurt the night before.  
  
Ororo leaned forward slightly as she tried to locate the spot where he had been lying, her deep concern for him mingling with her worry over Jean and causing her carefully expressionless face to tighten in anxiety. Ororo made a firm mental note to check up on Kurt the moment the briefing ended. The sedative Hank had given him that morning would be wearing off in about an hour. He would probably be disoriented, even frightened, and she didn't want him waking up alone.  
  
Casting a final gaze at the oak tree, Ororo started to turn around when something black caught her attention, meandering slowly into her peripheral vision. She blinked, surprised to see a rather large, black goat looking up at her from the lawn by her garden. She squinted a little, wondering where it could have come from, when she noticed something that made her do a double take. It was probably just the way the goat was standing in relation to the sun, but to Ororo's eyes it seemed that the shadow cast by the animal was not that of a goat, but of a man.  
  
She shook her head, blinking a few times before taking another look. The goat stared back, its large eyes focused directly on her. Ororo shivered despite herself. There was something suspicious about this goat; something wrong. The way it was staring up at her in that eerie, almost knowing way... Ororo doubted that it was just a trick of the sunlight that made its eyes seem to glow red.  
  
She was just about to alert the others that there was an intruder on the grounds when the goat gave a soft bleat, then lowered its gaze, suddenly appearing to take a strong interest in the grass. As it wandered away, Ororo turned from the window, all thoughts of warning the others gone from her mind. Without a word, she strode across the room and out the door, her chin raised and her crystal eyes filled with purpose.  
  
Hank looked to the Professor, a question in his expression—a question which Erik voiced barely a moment later.  
  
"And where is she off to in such a hurry?" the imposing mutant asked, leaning forward in his chair, his brow furrowed in annoyance.  
  
Xavier shook his bald head, at a loss. "I'm not sure," he said, somewhat concerned. "I sensed a spike of apprehension from her, and then....nothing." He frowned, steepling his fingers before him. "Perhaps she—"  
  
"Professor!"  
  
It was Scott's voice, piping in over the intercom. The remaining X-Men gave a start at the unexpected interruption, but Scott didn't give them a chance to recover, the urgency in his voice bringing them to attention at once.  
  
"We've got a major problem," he said. "You've all got to come down to the medbay...and fast."  
  
"What is it, Scott," Xavier queried, his voice calm despite the sudden tension visible in his face and posture. "Have you found Jean?"  
  
"She's here," he responded, "but she's unconscious. I can't get her to wake up. And our guest seems to be having some kind of fit. He's unconscious too—I think—but he can't seem to keep still and those machines he's hooked up to are going crazy."  
  
Xavier stretched out with his mind, his eyes widening as his senses brushed against the chaotic turmoil filling the minds of both Jean and Kurt.  
  
"We'll be down momentarily, Scott," he announced, already backing his chair away from the table and wheeling towards the door. Hank and Erik followed close behind, deeply concerned by the Professor's obvious alarm. "Do not lower the force field. Erik," he said, turning his head to face his old friend as they hurried down the corridor, "I'd appreciate it if you would boot up Cerebro for me—just in case. I've a feeling we may need to put a few of your recent modifications to the test."  
  
Erik nodded curtly, peeling away down an adjacent corridor as Hank and the Professor packed themselves into the elevator bound for the medbay.  
  
Brunetto's laboratory was little more than a cramped, cluttered room at the back of his tiny house. The tall man was standing in the far corner, hunched over a narrow table painted with various symbols and runes. Kurt frowned from the dark corner where he and Jean were concealed, leaning forward slightly to get a better look.  
  
"What is it?" Jean asked, trying to see what he was frowning at.  
  
"That pentagram," he whispered back, still uncertain as to whether Brunetto could see them or not. "And those strange runes..." He frowned in concentration, his eyes distant with memory. "I've seen them before...when I was a child. I remember—my foster mother, Margali, she had them painted on the table where she sat when she told people their fortunes. She told me they were part of a spell of summoning, that she used them to summon spirits to help her in her work."  
  
He leaned back against the wall, casting a quick glance at Jean. His intense, dark eyes burned into hers, his lean, pale features tight with apprehension. Both of them were still in disguise, and Jean had to be very careful not to let her long skirts rustle as she moved to lean beside him.  
  
"What do you think he's doing?" she asked curiously, following his gaze as they watched Brunetto open a cloth bag and begin removing a number of bright stones of the deepest red, arranging them in a careful pattern on the painted pentagram.  
  
Kurt just gave a distracted shake of his head, his attention focused fully on Brunetto and his stones. Jean closed her mouth, listening with careful attention as Brunetto began to speak. It was only then that she noticed the large, black bird perched in the wooden cage on the shelf above the table. It peered down at Brunetto through sharp, beady eyes, looking almost as though it could understand his words.  
  
"I know I can't put it off any longer, my friend," he said to the bird, his voice soft and distant. "The appointed time is swiftly approaching, and yet I hesitate."  
  
He pushed away from his table, striding across the small space to room's only window. His profile was little more than a silhouette among the shadows, but his dark eyes glittered in the fading sunlight.  
  
"I have done everything the demon has asked of me so far. I have ingratiated myself to Beatrice Portinari, acted the fool for her amusement. She suspects nothing. There are even times when I....when I think she might like me." He chuckled softly, but it sounded more like a sob.  
  
"Oh, God, what have I gotten myself into!" He clawed a hand through his dark hair, blinking rapidly, his nostrils flaring slightly as he fought to reign in his emotions. "I know what it is the Elder Gods expect of me, but when I made this bargain I never thought...I never..."  
  
He turned to face his bird, his anguish plain to see. "I never believed any woman could touch my heart as Beatrice has. I have always prided myself on my control, that I am ruled by my head rather than my heart. But the way she looks at me, Tanaquil...her sly little smile... She makes me feel, as I have never felt before. I am more alive in her presence; colors are brighter, sounds more resonant." He smiled, a soft, distant quirk of his lips. "She is like an angel, my friend, her every smile a sweet benediction warming my frosty heart."  
  
Tanaquil gave a low squawk, ruffling her feathers as she shifted position on her perch. Brunetto frowned.  
  
"Yes, you're right, Tanaquil," he acknowledged, lifting his head as he firmly schooled his thin features. "I don't know what's come over me. Next thing you know I'll be spouting poetry; as hopeless a romantic as old Dante." He smirked with an air of superior distain. "No, my friend, this is not a time for sentiment. I must maintain my control; detach myself from the crude emotions she stirs in me. The bloodstones are in place and the Elder Gods are waiting to hear of my progress. I have upheld my part of the bargain. It is now time to see if they will keep theirs."  
  
The bird squawked again, tilting her head at him with a snap of her beak. Brunetto smiled; a cold, hungry grin. "Just think of it, Tanaquil," he said, his dark eyes glittering. "All the knowledge, all the power of the supernatural rests just inches from my grasp. No more guesswork, no more theorizing, no more laborious experimentation... All the mysteries of the universe will be unlocked for me, and only for me." He cackled a laugh worthy of Vincent Price or Christopher Lee. The maniacal sound sent chills shivering up Jean's spine. Kurt just watched, completely absorbed in the scene playing out before them as Brunetto went on.  
  
"To have all my questions answered, to finally know the truth... It would be worth any price, would it not?" he asked the bird. "And what is Beatrice to me, anyway? She is a married woman, and even if she were not she wouldn't look twice at someone like me. I have no money, no family—I can't even point out my natural father with any real confidence. Anything I may feel for her is only wishful thinking on my part, and I have never been one to harbor such foolish delusions. Besides," he added, some of the confidence slipping from his tone. "whatever it is the Elder Gods want with her, I'm sure they wouldn't harm her. Otherwise, why go through all the trouble of getting me to become so friendly with her?"  
  
Tanaquil didn't answer; more intent on preening her feathers than assuaging Brunetto's uncertainty. It didn't matter anyway, because a moment later, that uncertainty had passed. Brunetto clutched the side of his lab table, his dark eyes hardening as he realized he had just made his decision.  
  
"I told Dante once that I would willingly spend an eternity in the company of the Devil himself if he answered my questions," he said softly, staring down at the carefully arranged bloodstones, his pulse beginning to quicken. "And it's true. If that is the cost of ultimate understanding, I am ready to pay." He looked up at his pet with a quick flash of a smile, then lowered his head as he splayed his fingers above the stones.  
  
"Well, Tanaquil, there's no turning back now," he said, his voice as steady as his hands. Gathering his courage, he took a deep breath, then spoke a short incantation consisting of three words:  
  
"Veni mihi, Azazel!"  
  
The bloodstones flashed once, then began to glow with an intense light that only grew brighter as they cast a sparkling pattern of light against the ceiling. Brunetto removed his hands and took a step back, his features composed and his expression calm. He had made his choice, confident that he could handle the consequences it would bring. Little did he realize that his confidence would prove to be his undoing...  
  
The sparkling, red lights began to spin and whirl, deepening and thickening until they had created a physical vortex, slowly widening as it continued to grow. Beyond the swirling vortex a strange, smoky landscape came into view. It was barren and rocky, bathed in a reddish light that reflected dimly off the thick, sulfurous clouds hanging heavily in the sky. And looming in the near distance was an ancient, crumbling castle, majestic yet terrifying with narrow, fang-like spires that thrust upwards into the gloom.  
  
Kurt gasped out loud, alarmed as he realized he recognized the structure and the lean, armored man standing on the drawbridge. The deep, red skin, the devilish goatee, the cold triumph gleaming in his fierce, yellow eyes...  
  
"Greetings, Azazel," Brunetto nodded politely, apparently oblivious to the sharp sound Kurt had just made.  
  
"Brunetto Donati," the demon grinned, his sharp, white teeth flashing as he rode the widening portal down the wall until he was standing at the level of the floor. "Right on time, as I had expected. Tell me," he said, his intense eyes darkening. "How goes things with the lovely Beatrice?"  
  
"Extremely well," Brunetto announced, his tone almost light. His stance bordered on cocky as he looked Azazel straight in the eye, refusing to be intimidated by the powerful being he knew as the leader of the Elder Gods. "We have become quite friendly over the past few months. Everything is working out exactly as you predicted."  
  
Azazel's grin broadened, his eyes alight with something like pride. "I knew you would not disappoint me," he said, reaching for something out of sight beyond the vortex. "And now I expect you are waiting to see if I will fulfill my part of the bargain."  
  
"That's right," Brunetto nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
"Well, never fear, my son," the demon smiled, holding a large, steaming goblet out for Brunetto to take. It seemed to be carved from the same dull, red rock that dominated the landscape behind him.  
  
"Take this goblet and drink the contents," he instructed, pushing his hand through the whirling portal with some difficulty. "By this action, you will seal our pact and gain the power you desire. Only then can I begin to impart to you the knowledge that you seek."  
  
Brunetto stared at the smoking goblet for a long moment, swallowing a deep shudder. Then he squared his shoulders, reaching out to take the goblet from Azazel.  
  
"What is this?" he grimaced, his nose wrinkling at the sharp smell of the smoking drink.  
  
"It is merely a catalyst, based on a formula discovered by one Henry McCoy several centuries from now," Azazel explained, enjoying the thoroughly lost look on Brunetto's face. "It will cause a reaction in your system that will activate the mutant gene you inherited from me." The demon smiled, his hard expression as close to reassuring as he could make it. "Drink it, Brunetto," he said, "and everything I just said will become clear to you."  
  
Brunetto raised the goblet to his lips, then hesitated, peering back at the demon over the rim.  
  
"What will happen once I drink this?" he asked, his hands shaking slightly as he struggled to maintain his resolve. "What will it do to me?"  
  
"To tell you the truth, I'm not entirely sure," Azazel admitted, his expression softening even further. "The mutant gene varies from individual to individual. But it should be quite interesting to find out."  
  
"What do you mean by that?" Brunetto almost squeaked.  
  
"Just drink," the demon ordered, "and all these questions will be answered."  
  
Brunetto swallowed hard, then nodded. Squeezing his eyes closed, he drained the goblet, gasping slightly as dropped it to the floor, then clutched his hand to his throat.  
  
"Madre di Dio," he exclaimed, his eyes tearing as he doubled over in pain. "Oh, God, it hurts. What have you done to me?"  
  
"Yes," Azazel nodded in false sympathy. "It will hurt. But the pain will pass, believe me."  
  
Brunetto reached out blindly for the support of his table, but he collapsed to the floor before he could reach it, curling into a tight ball as he writhed in pain. Azazel just watched, coldly, clinically, the smallest of smiles twisting his lips as Brunetto's eyes shot wide open. Their dark irises were gone now, replaced by bright, glowing yellow. His pale, flushed face was deepening in color, becoming nearly as red as Azazel's own skin.  
  
"I'm proud of you, my son," the demon smiled, amused and delighted as a long, spade-tipped tail made its appearance, lashing violently in a reflection of Brunetto's abject agony. "You alone, out of all my children, have never yet failed me. Finally, after all these centuries of waiting and scheming, I shall finally return to rule my earth. And you will be my instrument. Let us hope that you continue to serve me as successfully as you always have now that it matters most, my brave, loyal Belasco."  
  
Chuckling happily to himself, Azazel pressed a palm against the thin barrier separating his dimension from that of Earth, testing its strength. Brunetto's summons had managed to bring the two dimensional planes close enough together for the demon to cross over from one to another, but that rare proximity would not last long. He would have to work fast if he was to accomplish his goal before the dimensions parted and he was ripped back to the hot, barren pit that had served as his prison for so many centuries.  
  
Stepping gracefully into Brunetto's cramped, cluttered lab, Azazel pressed a button on his thick belt. The dusty air around him shimmered as his form and clothing began to change. A moment later, he had become the spitting image of Brunetto Donati—before he drank the potion. Taking a moment to check his appearance in the small mirror he kept in his pocket, Azazel smoothed his dark hair, then casually stepped over his screaming son, leaving him to endure the pain of his transformation alone except for Tanaquil's agitated shrieks and the unnoticed company of two stunned eavesdroppers.

#######  
  
See you next time! I'll be back soon with more story! :D If you spot any mistakes or typos or anything in this chapter, just let me know and I'll be more than happy to fix them. Thanks so much for reading! :D


	13. Chapter Twelve

Hi Everyone!

If anyone's interested in knowing what the bridge where Dante and Brunetto met Beatrice looks like, there's a painting by Henry Holiday (1839-1927) that pretty much illustrates it. It was painted in 1883 and it's called "Dante and Beatrice." They're pictured on the Ponte di Santa Trinità in Florence. Just go to the image search at Google and type in 'Holiday (plus (the plus symbol doesn't seem to want to work here)) Dante and Beatrice'. There a whole bunch of them there.

And now: Here at long last is Ch. 12! Please let me know what you think of it! :D

Chapter Twelve

"Welcome Magneto."

Erik blinked away the residual tingle from the retinal scan, his thin lips twitching slightly upwards as the thick, rounded doors slid open before him with a pneumonic CHLNK-WHOOSH. Aiming a brief nod at the wary security camera, the imposing, silver-haired mutant strode down the suspended corridor to the control station situated in the center of the enormous, spherical room.

His expression softened somewhat as he ran his hands over the cool metal of the controls, letting his eyes drift over the complicated arrangement of switches, levers, and keypads that blinked and twinkled in the dimness of the cavernous space. Even after all this time it still felt slightly odd to be able to stand there so freely, without having to be on the alert against tripping an alarm or a surprise attack by Xavier's X-Men. He and his old friend had been on opposing sides for decades, each doing his best to put an end to the other and all he stood for. To be here now, alone in the very power center of Xavier's entire organization—and welcome to be so—was still somewhat surreal. Yet it felt familiar as well. It felt right.

It was the human problem that had forced Charles and Erik to become adversaries; that had forced mutants to fight mutants for such an unconscionably long time. Xavier had wanted to work with the humans towards a dream of peace that Erik had known would never come to pass. Now that the world was almost entirely populated by mutants, however, there was no longer any cause for the hostility that had grown up between Magneto's Brotherhood and Xavier's X-Men to continue, and they had long ago joined forces under a single banner. Peaceful coexistence had finally become a reality, but it was the mutants who were calling the shots. The few humans that remained were grateful for the benevolent protection of the X-Men. And, to Erik's mind, that was just as it should be.

Taking a deep breath, Erik turned slowly in place, his eyes glittering with more than a little pride as he took a few moments to just drink in the room. Before they'd had their falling out, Erik had been Xavier's partner in creating the massive computer subsequently dubbed Cerebro. This was his machine, his design. Charles had supplied the funds and the specifications—he had been the idea man, as it were—but Erik had done the actual work. Even now there was only one person living who knew its workings as well as he did, and that was Xavier himself.

The purpose of the massive machine was to amplify and direct the Professor's considerable telepathic capabilities, allowing him to locate and even contact every living person—mutant or human—on the planet. When he put on the specially designed helmet, it literally gave him the power of life and death over the entire population of the Earth. But today, Erik was only interested in turning the machine's focus to a single individual. And that individual was lying in the mansion's own medical bay.

"Cerebro," he called out, his rich, commanding voice resonating almost eerily against the curved, metal walls. "Identify: Erik Lehnsherr, authorization code 624N38S 76C5."#

"Identity verified," the computer's calm female voice responded. "Good afternoon, Erik."

"And good afternoon to you, Cerebro." This time Erik's smile was more obvious. While he was quite aware that the highly advanced computer didn't truly understand such social niceties, in Erik's opinion it never hurt to be polite. "We have a visitor down in sector one of the mansion subbasement. Scan his mind and activate program Lehnsherr4. Use the newly installed holoemitters to project the results."

"Working," the computer announced evenly. "Please stand by."

"I'll sit, if you don't mind." Reaching under the main console, Erik rolled out an upholstered stool, lowering himself onto it with a smug smile. A moment later, however, all traces of smugness vanished as the dim room was filled with the intermittent glow of a flashing red light.

"Warning," Cerebro alerted. "Contaminated data. Aborting procedure."

"Override," Erik frowned, sitting up on his stool and tapping at the keypads. "Identify contamination."

"Multiple individuals detected. Evidence of psychic tampering found."

"Identify the individuals," Erik ordered.

Immediately, three screens on the console before him filled with data. Leaning forward, Erik scanned his eyes over the details, a deep furrow forming in his pale brow. After a moment, he sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, speaking more to himself than to the computer.

"So, this is what that insufferable red-head has been up to. Going in all by herself...I would have thought she had more sense." He shook his head with a sneer of disdain, reaching out to switch on the communications link. "No doubt Charles will want to hear of this..."

* * *

The goat was standing in the sun just beyond the outskirts of the small wood that had originally marked the northern boundary of the extensive Xavier estate. It was wild, overgrown, and seldom frequented because of its distance from the mansion. Most of the students preferred to explore the carefully cultivated gardens and grounds nearer to the school over trekking more than four miles (which was really eight because of the return trip) over such a hilly, rocky section of land. And it was quite a hike—unless, of course, one could fly.

Ororo Munroe alighted on the thick, shaggy grass with a graceful dip of her knees, allowing them to absorb the slight impact. She was staring straight ahead, straight-backed and motionless. The goat's large eyes twinkled with an almost human satisfaction at the sight.

"This is the woman, my lord?" a deep, guttural voice growled from the shadows of the trees.

"She is," a serpentine, female voice confirmed. Turning its head in her direction, the goat stamped the ground three times with his left front hoof. Almost instantly, the air around him began to shimmer. With a swirl of orange energy, his form morphed and lengthened into the figure of a tall, well-muscled man. His dark, russet features were hard, his golden eyes as cold as his frown. His hair was short, thick, and black and, although he had no horns, his neat goatee, pointed ears, and spaded tail were more than enough to lend him a chillingly demonic air.

The tall, sinister man reached out a strong hand to guide a slender, bald woman into the grassy clearing. Once she was free of the concealing shadows, her need for such guidance became gruesomely clear. The woman's eyes had been sewn shut with large, uneven stitches. The needle had left horrific scars that had long since healed over, further sealing her eyelids closed. Despite her disfigurement, however, her bearing was confident and composed as she reached out to run her long, bony fingers down Ororo's unnaturally still face.

"The potential is there, my lord," she reported smugly. "Your intuition was flawless, as usual. Even given his present form, she cannot continue to deny her feelings for much longer."

"Thank you, Ginniyeh," the devilish man smiled, an expression that somehow made him seem even more menacing. "You see how well I know my son. We are not as dissimilar as he would like to believe." His smile twisted into a smirk, his smoldering eyes dark with memory. "We both harbor a weakness for powerful women."

Straightening abruptly, he turned to the wood, snapping, "Ydrazil! Drop that squirrel and come here."

An enormous man with long, scraggly hair and a dirty eye patch shot a remorseful glance at the half-chewed rodent in his hands, but he obediently dropped it, wiping his thick hands on his stained tunic.

"Yes, my lord," he grunted in his low, harsh voice, reaching into the leather pouch hanging at his side and pulling out a surprisingly sophisticated-looking object that was about the same size and shape as a pen. "The device is loaded, just like you ordered."

"Hmm," the demon grunted, snatching the object and examining it for himself. Slowly, a grudging smile spread over his chiseled features.

"Very good, Ydrazil," he acknowledged, sparing a glance at the hulking man before striding up to face Ororo. He took her chin in his hand, looking her up and down then staring deeply into her crystal blue eyes. Nodding once in apparent satisfaction, the demonic man raised the small device to her temple and pressed his thumb against a round, black button on its side. There was a sound like a staple gun, then he pulled the device away. The only evidence of what he had done was a small, round bruise, the slight discoloration nearly invisible against the creamy mocha of Ororo's skin.

"Send her back now, Ginniyeh," he ordered, handing the device to Ydrazil as he took a step back. "Be sure she retains no memory of our little encounter here."

"She will remember nothing, my lord," the bald telepath assured him confidently. The devilish man nodded, watching in undisguised fascination as Ororo summoned a wind and used it to lift off the ground, flying back to the mansion without a sound. Once she was out of sight, Ginniyeh squared her shoulders, turning to face her master with unseeing eyes.

"My lord Azazel," she said, "please forgive my questioning, but since you continue to shield your thoughts from me I have no other recourse but to ask. I still do not understand why you wished to tag that woman as you would one of your own children, or why you approached the other woman earlier today. The telepath."

Azazel raised an eyebrow, but did not shift his gaze from the direction Ororo had gone.

"I like to keep tabs on all my children," he said simply. "Not only on what they see and do, but also on what others may say about them in their absence. Such information is particularly vital to me in this case. My son must be observed, his actions monitored. Hence, the microchip I just implanted beneath that woman's skin."

"And that Jean Summers woman?"

Azazel didn't answer, keeping his eyes fixed on the horizon. Ginniyeh scowled in frustration.

"My lord, you have never been so cryptic about your plans before," she pressed. "At least, not with me. You dealt with that insolent Kurt Wagner years ago. Why come here, to this time, just to—"

"Never fear, my dear Ginniyeh," the demon cut her off, turning to face her at last. His tone was conciliatory, but his golden eyes gave a dangerous flash. "My plans will become clear...in time."

* * *

"Kurt, what are you doing?" Jean hissed, shooting an anxious look over her shoulder in the direction Azazel had recently gone. "Get back here!"

"This is a memory, Jean," Kurt pointed out from his crouch by his unconscious brother's side. "He's not coming back. Even that blasted bird has stopped squawking."

Jean felt a hot flush spread over her face. "Oh, right. In a link as deep as this, it's often easy to forget..."

Realizing that Kurt wasn't paying any attention to her, she trailed off. Slowly, she left the safety of the corner to crouch beside him, both of them looking down at Brunetto's still form. It was a long while before Kurt finally spoke.

"I can remember, Jean," he said softly, his voice slightly strained. "It's just a few flashes but..." He looked up at her, pain filling his dark eyes. "He left me the same way. My fa—Azazel." He turned away sharply, hiding his expression from view.

"I remember the pain," he whispered. "I was strapped to a table; alone, screaming..." He took in a shaky breath, slowly turning back to her. Jean watched him with growing concern, disturbed at the way his eyes now seemed remote, almost detached. She wanted to reach out to him, but she restrained herself, afraid that he would stop speaking if she did. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap, giving him her full attention as he went on. Kurt shook his head with a disgusted frown, giving a short, mirthless snort.

"And he just smiled." he stated flatly. "He laughed and walked away, leaving me alone to watch as my fingers split—"

He clenched his pale fist convulsively, swallowing hard as he lowered his head. Jean instinctively moved closer to him, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. When Kurt didn't shrug her away, she risked a brief, supportive squeeze.

"You are starting to remember," she said gently. "These are your own memories, not what the monsters that did this to you implanted in your head. That's the first step to breaking free, Kurt, to beating Belasco once and for all."

"But he will still be there, Jean," Kurt retorted, the knuckles of his clenched fist beginning to whiten. "I know that now. Even if I do manage to take control from him, he'll still be hovering in the background, as much a ghost as I was."

He scowled, rising to his feet in one, fluid movement and crossing the room to the window. "No matter how hard I fight, I will never be rid of him."

Jean shook her head and stood up with her back to the motionless Belasco. "Listen to me, Kurt," she said firmly. "You don't have to fight him alone anymore. You're with your friends now, and we can help you. We understand that you can't be held accountable—"

Kurt raised his hand to cut her off, turning to face her with a shake of his head. However, whatever he was about to say died on his lips at the surreal sight of a ghostly Belasco coalescing over the still body of his unconscious self.

"Jean—move!" Kurt exclaimed. "Now!"

Jean gave a start, but before she could turn to look behind her a strong arm had her pinned with a clawed hand at her throat. She gagged, Belasco's tightening grip cutting off her air supply and rendering her helpless.

"So, you thought you could hide from me?" the demon glared at Kurt, his cold voice hissing in his captive's ear. "What are you supposed to be, anyway? One of those old movie stars you used to idolize?" He snorted. "Idiot."

Kurt made to move forward, but Belasco only used his tail to pull Jean closer.

"Don't even think about it, hero," the demon spat. "Like you, she's in my mind so deep that if I kill her here, she's dead. You are both my prisoners now."

Kurt shot him a diamond-hard glare, his jaw working in silent fury as his mind quickly ran through his options. Jean's features were beginning to purple, her green eyes wide as she struggled for breath...

"All right!" he exclaimed fiercely, thrusting his hands above his head in angry frustration. "We're your prisoners. I surrender, is that what you want to hear? Now let go of her."

"It's a start," Belasco smirked, loosening his grip on Jean's throat only enough so she could breathe more easily, her purpling face fading slowly back to flushed red as she gasped for air.

"I must admit, this was much easier than I had expected," the demon remarked. "Should I be on my guard for some sort of trap here, or were you really so moved by my oh-so-dramatic," he paused for a moment as if searching for the right word, "...metamorphosis..." he grinned, "that you allowed your guard to drop?"

Kurt was silent, his narrow features set. The demon's grin broadened. "I'm touched," he said, his tone laced with irony. "But of course, your concern was completely wasted. My father gave me exactly what he had promised. And now, the knowledge of both the natural and the supernatural world belongs to me."

"You're a fool," Kurt snapped, his blunt words catching Belasco off guard. The demon glared at him, unconsciously bearing his fangs as he tightened his grip on Jean's neck once more.

"What did you just say?"

"I said you're a fool," Kurt repeated in the same tone. "Azazel used you, and you walked right into his arms. You gave him Beatrice in return for an eternity as his slave."

Belasco's expression slackened for one shocked moment, then almost immediately his russet features tightened with irrational fury. Throwing Jean to the floor, he lunged at Kurt with a ferocious cry.

"How dare you speak her name!" the livid demon roared. "You are not worthy to even hear it spoken, you barbarous freak!"

"Are you speaking of me, or of yourself," Kurt retorted, shoving the demon off him with a sharp knee to the gut. Belasco doubled over with a gasp, the hateful glare he shot at Kurt enough to send a shiver down Jean's spine even though she was halfway across the room, curled up beside Bruneto's lab table and struggling to recover her breath.

"You didn't kill Beatrice, did you," Kurt went on with an uncharacteristic sneer, his eyes dark with loathing. "You just accepted the blame because of your guilt over the way you had set her up. You led Azazel right to her, and he left you alone—trapped in the body of a freakish, red-skinned monster—to take the blame for her rape and later, her resulting murder. All these years, her death has tortured you, eating you up inside. So, you took it out on me, and on all those other X-Men you tortured and killed in that forsaken fire-pit you had the dubious honor of calling your 'realm'."

The wrath slowly faded from Belasco's narrow face as he gingerly straightened back to his full height, stepping forward in his red-leather boots to look Kurt straight in the eye. Kurt met his stare without blinking, his features hard and determined. After a long moment, Belasco looked away; a small, humorless laugh rising in his throat.

"Now who is the fool?" he said with a contemptuous smirk. "Perhaps you thought you could wound me with your words? Take advantage of my weakness?" His golden eyes darkened as he took a step closer to Kurt, who had not left his position beside the window. They were standing practically nose to nose; two silhouettes looming against the sunset sky.

"You forget, mein Herr," Belasco hissed in a mocking parody of Kurt's faint accent, "a demon has no conscience to prick. For me, the power I gained from that bargain was more than worth the cost of a single life. And now, Beatrice's twin children serve my father as two of his most loyal subjects—apart from me of course." A cold smile stretched over his crimson face, but it brought no light to his chilling eyes. "I feel no guilt over what I have done. Nor over what I am about to do to you and your nosy friend right now."

Before Kurt could react, Belasco snapped his fingers with a malicious laugh. Instantly, the cramped, medieval laboratory vanished in a rush of reeking flames. Jean cried out in alarm as a lapping tongue of greenish fire spurted up beside her, singing her short hair.

"Jean!" Kurt exclaimed, clearly torn between rushing to her aid and keeping Belasco in his sights. The demon's bone-chilling laughter seemed to be everywhere at once, mingling with the roar of the flames and the loud rumbling from the ground quaking violently beneath their feet. As he raised his one arm with a powerful thrust, a sharp precipice of rugged stone shot up into the air. Belasco was perched on top, seated on a majestic obsidian throne.

"Now, once and for all you will learn who is the master here," Belasco proclaimed, the flames casting his face into shadow, his yellow eyes glinting in the sickly light. "You will see how the Lord of Limbo deals with those who would defy him."

"The former lord, you mean," Kurt retorted, reaching down to help Jean to her feet once the ground had settled. "If I recall correctly, you were kicked out of Limbo by your own apprentice weren't you. A teenaged girl named Illyana Rasputin."

Belasco gave a roar of fury, the walls of greenish flame flaring up in a reflection of his outrage. Suddenly, Kurt found himself trapped in a metal cage, suspended in the air beside Belasco's enormous throne. Looking down, he saw Jean was now alone, standing in a rapidly shrinking circle of white-hot flames. It was clearly taking all her psychic energy to keep from being broiled alive, and Kurt knew she wouldn't be able to keep it up for much longer.

"You won't be able to rid yourself of us so easily, Belasco," he yelled over the crackling flames, trying to distract the demon's attention from Jean long enough to enable her to build a psychic shield around herself.

"Why not?" the demon asked, turning to face his helpless half-brother with a maliciously triumphant grin. "We're playing by my rules, not yours. Here, whatever I say must come to pass." He laughed again; a horrible, gloating sound. "You may have managed to wrestle control from me once, Kurt Wagner, but let's see how long you can last after I cast you adrift on the midden mire."

"Nein..." Kurt looked around frantically, concentrating as hard as he could on teleporting himself out of the doorless cage. To his horror, however, his efforts only made Belasco laugh harder. Shooting him one last, victorious grin, Belasco snapped his fingers. There was a flash of crimson smoke, and suddenly Kurt and his cage were sent hurtling head-long into the howling chaos of the midden mire, leaving Belasco to turn his full attention to his remaining victim.

* * *

#Magneto's authorization code really is in code! Care to try your hand at cracking it? Your telephone holds the key to deciphering the secret message! (Hint: It's a two word phrase, NOT a telephone number!) Have fun!

Tune in next time for another exciting chapter of 'Belasco's Beatrice'!


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Hi Everyone! I'm back, and I'm so very, very sorry about the long wait.

In case you were wondering, the coded message in Magneto's access code is "Magnets Rock." :D

And now, here at long, long, long, long last is Ch.13. This is where the Kuroro part really starts. Enjoy!

Chapter Thirteen

_ …Monster…_

…_Demon…_

…_Freak…_

The harpy-like voices were calling to him, clawing at him with long, ghostly fingers. Swirling faces mocked and teased him, rocking his narrow cage with derisive laughter and terrified shrieks. The rain fell, neverending: black and slick and cold. It was accompanied by a howling wind that blew the harsh taunts around and through him, filling his heart with bitter pain.

…_Mutant…_

…_Teufel…_

…_Mörder…_

He was alone, abandoned. A prisoner in a cage, condemned to serve an eternal sentence. Just what his crime was, he had forgotten. The swirling mists of the midden mire had stolen the details from him, leaving only searing guilt and the impression of a horrible wrong. He had been running, running…running from something. There was intense pain and panic—a blinding, animalistic terror. A cold chill had clutched his stomach, freezing his mind; a dreadful certainty unlike any he had felt before. He had done something then, committed a crime he could no longer recall. Whatever he had done, however it had happened, he knew he had earned this fate. His punishment was just.

If he could only remember his name…

* * *

"You called me just in time, old friend," Xavier said as he carefully removed the sleek, specially designed helmet from his bald head. The holographic interpretation of the stark, fiery landscape that was Belasco's relam faded out with an imploded flash, leaving only the curved, metallic walls of Cerebro. Erik shot the Professor a grave look from his place beside him at the console. Ororo and Scott peered anxiously over their shoulders from the long, suspended ramp that connected Cerebro's control center to the sliding door, frustrated by their inability to help. Dr. McCoy had chosen to remain in the medbay, keeping watch over the bodies of Jean and Kurt while Xavier worked to contact their minds. "Another minute and it would have been too late. As it is, I think Jean will now be able to keep Belasco distracted long enough for me to find Kurt." 

"You sound so sure of that," Scott frowned. "She was nearly burnt out when we arrived here. Belasco was about to—"

"I've strengthened her connection with her body and reestablished her escape route," Xavier explained brusquely, his hands flying over the keypads. Then he paused, glancing up a Scott with a reassuring look. "She'll be able to pull herself out now if Belasco proves to be too much for her to handle on her own. But my main concern now is finding Kurt. Without him, there is no way to stop Belasco from dominating once more."

Ororo furrowed her brow. "But, Charles, it is Kurt's mind. I don't understand how he can be pushed aside by this implanted personality so easily. What prevents him from fighting back?"

Xavier sighed, closing his eyes for a moment in order to better steel himself for the difficulty of what he was about to say. It was always hard to witness the scars of telepathic abuse, especially in one so close to him.

"Kurt has been a victim of massive psychic tampering, Ororo," he explained, "deliberately performed by a telepath with powers that rival my own. It seems that Kurt's brain has been 'rewired,' as it were, to support the implanted personality at the expense of his own. From what I'm seeing here, it's nothing short of a miracle that he has been able to fight back at all. For all intents and purposes, his personality should have been erased long ago. Look here."

He pulled up a colored diagram of a human brain with a few taps at the keypad. Ororo scooted past Scott to stand in the tight space between Erik and Charles.

"Note these even, orange lines," the Professor said, tracing a few of the straight, parallel stripes with his finger. "See how they are stacked together in a specific pattern? Now look here at these green lines."

He traced one of the few craggy lines that shot through the orange stripes seemingly at random. Ororo nodded.

"Very pretty," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "But what do they mean?"

"No living organism can have thought patterns this ordered and precise," Erik spoke up with a gesture to the orange section of the diagram. "What we're seeing here is more like a computer program than the workings of a human brain."

"Precisely," Xavier agreed. "This pattern was designed to inhibit Kurt's control over his own mind by forcibly suppressing certain memories, then overwriting them with a simulated personality. In other words, Kurt's mind has been infected with the mental equivalent of a computer virus—Belasco—the purpose of which is to re-write Kurt's personality according to its specifications."

"And the green lines?" Scott prompted.

"Those are Kurt's thought patterns," Xavier said. "And as you can see, they're getting weaker."

Ororo glared at the overwhelmingly orange diagram, her jaw clenching in frustration and a deep fear she refused to show. "So," she said, "what can we do to help Kurt?"

"Despite the damage the Belasco 'program,' as it were, has done, Kurt's own memories should still be there," the Professor assured her. "It's just a question of retrieving them."

"You mean like the way you can retrieve files from a computer's hard drive after they've been deleted?" Scott asked, his brow furrowed over his glasses as he struggled to wrap his brain around what the Professor was saying.

Xavier considered. "Essentially…yes," he nodded. "If we're ever to have a hope of reconstructing Kurt's mind, we're going to have to isolate the invading 'Belasco Virus' and cage it off until we can find a way to safely destroy it without harming Kurt."

"And how do we do that?" Ororo inquired.

"Well," the Professor said, "to extend the computer metaphor, first we're going to have to 'defragment' his mind."

Ororo looked confused. Xavier chewed his cheek for a moment, searching for a clearer explanation.

"Instinctually, Kurt's brain 'knows' how it is supposed to be configured," he said. "Unfortunately, it's not simply a matter of repairing the damage. If it were, I could probably do it from here." He shook his head with a tired sigh. "No, he'll have to rediscover the configuration on his own. But he'll need our guidance and support if it's to work.

"Right now, he's scattered: a fragmented psyche lost to chaos and uncertainty—what he calls the 'midden mire.' In order to regain his control, he's going to have to uncover and re-integrate his forcibly repressed memories into his consciousness. Until he has recovered his complete personality, Belasco will always have the upper hand.

"Jean has already helped him a great deal, even if she was unaware of it, but she has only started him in the right direction. What he needs now is careful guidance from a person he trusts implicitly."

Xavier turned slightly in his chair, looking up at Ororo with intense eyes. "And I believe that person is you."

* * *

Azazel smiled from his perch on the tree branch, his golden eyes fixed to the small monitor which was strapped to his wrist like a watch. The transmitter he had implanted beneath the weather witch's skin was working perfectly, allowing him to see everything she saw as though through her own eyes, and what he was seeing showed him that Xavier was on the right track. He and the Munroe woman were both wearing ridiculous-looking silver helmets, preparing to set up a link to Kurt's mind through the marvelous computer they called Cerebro. Azazel's smile stretched into a grin. His plan was working itself out exactly to his satisfaction. 

The demon stood up carefully and extended his tail behind him, stretching out the kinks. His son's mind was well in hand. Now, it was time to see to his body. Casting one last glance around the grounds to be sure he was alone, Azazel teleported from the old oak with a BAMF of sulfurous smoke. The alarmed flutter of a songbird's wings was the only evidence of his departure.

* * *

…_Monster…_

…_Demon…_

Blank nothingness surrounded and clung to him like a plastic bag coated in glue. Here and there, ghostly swirls of freezing mist curled and floated; colorless flecks within an all-encompassing cloud. He followed them with his eyes, fascinated by the shifting patterns of their whirling dance.

…_Abomination…_

All too soon, the delicate wisps faded away and a turquoise rain began falling up from the clouds below him. The color was alarming after the blankness. Kurt sighed, leaning back against his narrow cage and stretching a hand through the bars, catching a crystalline droplet in his colorless palm and letting it weave and roll through his fingers of its own accord. The blue spread up his arm, deepening in color until it was almost black, then faded away into smoke.

…_Schreckgespenst…_

…_Ungeheuer…_

…_Alpdrücken…_

It would be so easy to just give into those painful taunts and let the clawing hands take him. It almost be a relief to allow those harsh, mocking voices to sway him as they had so many times before, to let himself fade once again into the cold, aching obscurity of his own subconscious…

…_Kurt…_

What was that?

…_Kurt?…_

A new voice was rising above the howling din deadening his ears, cutting through the caustic noise to slip straight into his heart.

…_Kurt? Where are you?…_

This voice was low and soft, deep, yet completely feminine. He pressed against the bars of his cage, straining to see through the searing blankness that enshrouded him.

There! The dancing mists were coalescing into a human form, a form of sparkling light magnificent to behold. He held his breath, awed by the vision as it continued to solidify, turning from light to shadow to living flesh and blood right before his eyes.

Once she had taken form, the woman looked around herself, taking stock of her surroundings. Her crystal blue eyes fell on him almost immediately, and a warm smile graced her deceptively delicate mocha features.

"O—Ororo?"

The name was like a burst of sunlight in his heart, bringing with it a myriad of images and emotions, a wild torrent of memory too strong for the narrow cage to hold. The bars burst open and Kurt stepped through, his golden eyes wide as he drank in her presence. He reached out a tentative hand to touch her cheek, but pulled back with a jolt before making contact.

"You can't be here," he whispered, dreading that his words were true. "This must be a dream, or a trick of some kind…"

Ororo shook her head, a lock of snow-white hair falling over her shoulder. "No trick, my friend," she assured him, stepping forward to take his hand in hers. "I am as real as you are. I've come to help you."

Kurt stared at their linked hands, secretly admiring the contrast of chocolate against indigo as he had countless times before…a lifetime ago. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet hers, tilting his head slightly in curiosity.

"Help me how?" he asked.

"I am to be your guide—to help you help yourself."

Kurt furrowed his brow. "You never used to be so cryptic," he said with the smallest of smiles. "Why don't you just say what you mean?"

Ororo cocked a wry brow at him, but didn't respond. "Break yourself out of this place," was all she said, "and you'll begin to understand. Then we can talk as plainly as you wish."

"But I can't—" Kurt started to protest.

"Then get me out of here," Ororo suggested. "Take me to the place you remember best. The place where you feel safest."

Kurt opened his mouth, but his excuse died in his throat as Ororo stepped closer to him, looking him straight in the eyes.

"I trust you," she told him, her voice solemn and sincere. "Do you trust me?"

Kurt blinked his golden eyes, then straightened. "Implicitly, meine Dame," he said with a courtly bow, sweeping the hazy ground with a playful flourish. Then he sobered, his expression darkening.

"You do realize the danger, don't you," he said. "The midden mire is not to be traversed lightly. One strong gust, and we could both lose our minds."

Ororo looked affronted. "What kind of a guide would I be if I allowed something like that to happen," she said. "I told you that I'm here to help, but if you want that help you're going to have to be prepared to take some things on faith."

A broad smile spread slowly across Kurt's face, brightening his eyes with humor and affection.

"Faith I can do, Liebchen," he said. "Take my hand. We'll be out of here before you can say klitzekleine Kinder können keinen Kirschkern knacken!"

Ororo blinked. "What?"

Kurt chuckled, secretly adoring the befuddled look on her face. "Just a tongue twister, meine Liebe. You can say Peter Piper, if you prefer. Either way, we're still busting out of here. Let's go!"

The journey through the midden mire was even more difficult than Kurt had anticipated. Ororo's hand was like a leaden weight, dragging him ever downwards, but he never once considered letting her go. Horrible, ghostly voices screeched past him, laughing in mocking derision, screaming in abject terror, taunting and pulling and scratching, shunting him from here to there as they tore at his soul with words. Still, he held on, kicking his way ever upwards as he swam against the rushing current of loathing and hate.

There was a light up ahead—dim and hazy, but warm and real. Kurt swam for it with all his might, stretching out a hand to sweep aside the roiling fog.

To his surprise, his hand rammed into something solid. He winced in pain, stopping their progress and turning to Ororo, who floated like an angel in the nothingness beside him.

"I can't get us through," he told her apologetically. "There's some kind of barrier in the way."

Ororo frowned at him in disapproval, causing his heart to sink. "What is a barrier to a teleporter?" she asked. "I thought nothing could hold you if you did not want to be held."

"A teleporter?" Kurt repeated quietly, narrowing his eyes as he struggled to remember. "Yes… I think I was a teleporter once. But I haven't been able to teleport for centuries…"

Ororo's frown melted and her eyes softened. "Kurt," she said, "can you remember the first time you teleported? Not the first time your power manifested, but the first time you teleported on purpose, just for the fun of it?"

Kurt ran an agitated hand through his hair. "I—I don't know…"

Ororo clutched his hand tighter. "Please, Kurt, try? It's the only way you can get us out of here."

"But the voices," Kurt said, suddenly looking very small: a child with wide, frightened eyes. "If they find out I can teleport, they'll think I'm a demon for sure. They'll try to kill me!"

Ororo made to move closer, then stopped short, staring around herself with wide, amazed eyes. The nothingness had faded away. Now, Kurt was standing just inside a sawdust-covered circus ring, a small, skinny, fourteen-year-old boy staring up at the trapeze platform high, high above. He was wearing a tight costume she had never seen before, sparkly blue with golden wings sewn across the chest. As Ororo watched, the bleacher seats filled with ghostly faces and a bright spotlight flashed on, causing all eyes to turn to Kurt. It was all very disconcerting, and for a moment Ororo wasn't sure how to react. Then, she felt the Professor's nudging at the back of her mind. Suddenly, she knew what she needed to say.

She bent down beside the frightened boy, leaning in until her lips almost brushed his pointed ear. "They won't fear you," she whispered, "if they think it's all part of the show."

Kurt turned his head to face her, a familiar confidence spreading over his impossibly young features as he took her hand firmly in his and gave it a brief squeeze.

"And now," came an announcer's voice, echoing over the heads of the spectral crowd, "the Szardos Bavarian Circus is proud to present—in his first solo performance—the Amazing Blue Lightening!"

Kurt grimaced slightly in embarrassment, but the excitement and anticipation of performing did not fade from his golden eyes. "Kind of a hokey stage name, nein?" he chuckled in his young voice. "I changed it to Nightcrawler after we joined the Munich Circus." He looked up at her, nervous, but ready as the band sounded his cue. "Hang on, now," he said with a rather shaky laugh. "I've never teleported up with another person before."

And suddenly, Ororo realized: this seemingly inexplicable scene was the memory she'd asked for. This performance was the first time Kurt had used his powers for his own enjoyment, without fear.

The young Kurt led her out into the spotlight and bowed to the cheering crowd. When he turned back to her, however, she found herself looking into the familiar, handsome features of the adult Kurt she had known for so long. Without a word, he pulled her into a tight embrace, twining his tail securely around her waist. Then, with an upwards glance and a quick, whispered prayer, he activated his power.

BAMF!

* * *

Next time: Ororo continues to help piece Kurt back together and Hank gets a visit in the medbay. Stay Tuned! :D 


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Awesome!!! :D It feels so good to finally be working on this again! And it's such a huge relief to know you're still enjoying it! Thanks!

There's more Kuroro ahead, and lots of angst. On with the show!

Chapter Fourteen

Even though Ororo was well aware of the fact that everything she was seeing was in Kurt's mind, the experience of teleporting with him through the screeching coldness of the midden mire was as real as anything she had ever felt. The warmth of his body, the strength in his arms and tail where he held her close…these were not mere illusions. She squeezed her eyes closed, burying her face in his fuzzy neck in a vain attempt to stave off the sickening vertigo that clutched at her stomach. This teleport was definitely real.

Striving to keep her calm center despite her dizzying nausea, Ororo took a deep breath through her nose. Kurt smelled just as she remembered, warm and musty with a sharp undercurrent of strong soap.

That made her smile. Kurt had always been so self-conscious about the smell his teleporting left behind, secretly terrified that the reek of brimstone lingered in his fur. And it did, but only very slightly. Ororo had never admitted it aloud, but she had always rather liked the way he smelled.

She took in another discreet breath, her eyes still closed as her mind filled with warm memories…strolling through her garden in the moonlight as they talked over their latest assignments; sitting on his bed as he told her colorful tales of his years with the circus; the priceless look on his face when she sprayed him with the hose in an uncharacteristic fit of childish silliness; the security of his arms as he held her close in the elevator, soothing her claustrophobia with the kind words of friendship. Suddenly, Ororo had the strange, irrational wish to melt into him so they could stay in each other's arms forever.

Despite the difficulty of the trip, the turbulent teleport only took a handful of seconds to complete. All too soon, Ororo felt Kurt's embrace loosen, and she stepped away, quickly schooling her features into a mask of professionalism. Kurt needed her to be strong. If she allowed her confusing emotions to distract her from her duty as a guide, it was entirely possible that she would lose her friend all over again—this time for good. So, instead of praising him for the way he'd broken them away from the realm of howling chaos that had ensnared him, she took a moment to drink in their new surroundings.

They were standing in the center aisle of a very small, very ancient stone church. There was one round, stained-glass window at the back, and a very ornately carved wooden crucifix hung over the meticulously kept marble altar. A highly polished, upright piano stood in the space just below the altar, opposite a stone basin of holy water. The remaining windows were thin and narrow, and the thick, wooden rafters that made up the ceiling sloped to a sharp peak. A glass display case filled with archaeological artifacts lined the wall beside the only door that led outside, and the double rows of hard, wooden pews strewn with dog-eared hymnals made the small space seem full even though they were the only ones there.

"Where are we?" Ororo asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable and out of place in the oddly occupied atmosphere of this empty church. Even her voice sounded muffled.

When no answer was forthcoming, she turned to face her companion, only to cry out in concerned alarm at what she saw.

Kurt was crouched on the last pew, his shoulders hunched and his head down. His colorful, threadbare clothes were torn and grass stained, and his fur and hair were matted with mud, grass, and what looked like blood. Ororo rushed to his side.

"Bright Goddess!" she exclaimed. "Kurt, are you all right? What happened?"

Kurt didn't look at her. He just kept staring at his bloodstained hands, his golden eyes wide with shock and pain. When he spoke, his voice was haunted, distant. The sound of it chilled Ororo straight through to her marrow.

"I—I had to stop him. I had to. I'd gotten the knife away from him…everything should have been OK. But he…he punched me, lunged for the knife… What else could I do? God help me, Father, what else could I have done?!"

Ororo spun around, but no priest was there. Only her and him and whatever horrible memory was eating at his tortured soul now. Slowly, Ororo crouched down beside him, gently taking one of his scratched, blood-matted hands in hers.

"Kurt," she said softly, "tell me why you brought me here. What did you want me to see?"

Kurt took in a shaky breath, his shoulders trembling as his golden eyes filled with tears.

"I used to feel so safe here," he whispered hoarsely, choking back his sobs. "The monks at Neuhertzel had always been so kind to me. After our circus was bought by that millionaire Texan, they were the only ones who would give me a place to stay. Sabu…" He took in a shaky breath. "Sabu was d-dead, and Amanda couldn't leave with me, so the monks let me live in their monastery while I searched for my brother. And they were the only ones I could come to after…" he turned his head to the wall, hunching himself into an even tighter ball, "after I found him."

He shivered, closing his eyes for a moment as he struggled to find the strength to go on. Ororo lowered her head in understanding, her thumb soothingly stroking the back of his fuzzy hand.

She was well aware of the tragedy he was referring to. It was the event that had first brought Kurt in contact with the X-Men. After the man who'd bought his circus threatened to put him in the freak show, the nineteen-year-old Kurt had left the only home, the only family he'd ever known and gone off in search of his older foster brother, Stephan Szardos, who had left the circus several years earlier. He'd found him some weeks later just a few short miles from the monastery at Neuhertzel, living in the small, isolated town of Winzeldorf.

At first, everything had been wonderful, but after a while Kurt began to notice something…off…about his brother. He seemed unnaturally obsessed with the mysterious string of child murders that had been taking place in the area, claiming that the victims weren't children at all, but demons in disguise. As time went on, his words and actions became more and more peculiar until, finally, Kurt began to track his brother's movements in hopes of proving his suspicions to be wrong.

One night, he followed him to a cemetery, where he'd watched from a tree as Stephan pulled a long knife on a small child. Horrified, Kurt leapt to the child's defense, grappling with his raving brother for control of the knife. Kurt finally managed to grab the weapon with his tail and toss it out of his brother's reach, but Stephan socked him across the jaw and lunged for the knife. Kurt leapt after him, kicking him hard in the chest. Stephan was hurled backwards like a rag doll, snapping his neck on a gravestone. He was dead by the time his brother reached him.

Kurt had fled the scene, appalled and sickened by what he'd done, but he'd returned several hours later, resolving to take his brother's body home and explain what had happened to his mother and sister. Unfortunately, he had only just found the knife and was leaning down to lift his brother when he was spotted by a groundskeeper. The old man misunderstood his posture and his intentions, and before he knew it, Kurt was under attack by a raging mob, all accusing him of being the demon responsible for the deaths of their children. If Professor Xavier hadn't been there to stop them, Kurt would never have escaped alive. And even though his mother and sister had later forgiven him for the death of Stephan, Ororo knew that Kurt had never been able to forgive himself.#

"I've always loved this place," Kurt continued after a long moment. "I've never felt more protected than I did while I was here. This monastery was a place of peace, of study and contemplation devoted to charitable works and the simple love of God. And once I left, it was only to find a world of violence and hatred…a world I've never been able to escape from since."

"Is that why you chose to come here, Kurt?" Ororo asked. "To escape?"

Kurt looked down at her with dim, hollow eyes, then rose to his feet, pacing up the aisle until he was standing before the altar looking up at the large, ornate crucifix.

"I killed my brother, Ororo," he said bluntly. "I was a murderer in my own right long before I'd even heard of Belasco. I've harmed so many people in the name of justice. Since joining the X-Men, I've led a life of violence and bloodshed. I called myself a righteous crusader, yet how often did I allow my anger to influence my actions?"

He sniffed sharply, his features clenching in anguish. "Xavier's words seem so hollow now," he whispered to himself, "seeing them from this darker side of the looking glass. I never should have left Neuhertzel."

He sighed, turning his face in shame from the crucifix on the wall. Ororo started to move towards him, then froze in place, her mouth agape as the red blood that dripped from Kurt's thick fingers began to pool up his arms and down his torso, altering his clothes and features as it spread. The whole time, he continued speaking, apparently unaware of the transformation taking place.

"I know now that the old saying is true," he ground out, his hoarse voice harsh with bitterness. "It was my good intentions that led me on this path to Hell."

"Kurt, stop this!" Ororo cried out, rushing over to take him by the shoulders. She gasped in alarm as she felt that, beneath his long, red cloak, his right arm was now missing. The russet-skinned demon sneered at her expression.

"Stop what?" he snapped, gesturing fiercely with a five-fingered hand to his horns and spaded tail. "This is who I am, Ororo. This is what I always was. It doesn't matter whether I kill Belasco or Belasco kills me. In the end, we're both guilty of the same crime."

"You know it's not the same thing, Kurt," Ororo protested vehemently. "And Stephan's death was an accident! He was the aggressor. You never meant for him to die!"

"Do you think that matters?" he snarled, his golden eyes narrowed into cold slits. "The fact is that he is dead, and at my hand. God's law commands that we shall not kill. It doesn't say 'you shall not kill unless it's in self defense or in defense of another'. If you add addendums to the rules whenever they don't suit you, you only end up justifying the very crimes you were trying to prevent!"

Ororo shook her head, frustrated by Kurt's sudden attack of philosophic pigheadedness. "We're wasting time with this argument," she stated, running a hand through her long, white hair. The Professor's presence was itching at the back her mind, urging her to press harder, to cut through this protective rigmarole of blocks and excuses he had constructed straight to the festering blackness his unconscious was struggling so hard to conceal.

"There's something else here," she observed sharply, advancing on him with such purpose that he actually took a step back. "Something beyond your brother and even Belasco. It's a gnawing guilt that you refuse to acknowledge, even though it is eating your soul alive."

Kurt stared at her in confusion, backing up even further.

"What is it Kurt?" Ororo pressed, getting right up in his face. "What is it that you did that's so terrible you can't bring yourself to remember it, even now?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Kurt snapped back, starting to grow defensive. "I already told you why I deserve this fate—"

"No, you haven't," Ororo countered. "You haven't given me a single good reason why a man as decent, as caring, as forgiving as you should be condemned to this half-life, controlled by some heartless demon who should have died centuries ago!"

"I murdered my brother!" Kurt screamed back, the veins in his neck close to popping. "I used my power to teleport myself away from the Gray Gargolyle's grasp, when I should have tried to get my team out instead! I stood by while Belasco used my body to torture and maim X-Men from dozens of alternate realities. I watched him kill you again and again, Ororo, and rather than try to stop him, I slipped away into my subconscious, hiding like a craven coward from your screams and from the screams of everyone else I held dear. Scott, Jean, Hank, Logan, the Professor, Rachel…even Kätzchen! I was the instrument Belasco used to achieve your deaths, a willing slave to the Lord of Limbo! Your blood is on my hands!"

Ororo raised her chin, her crystal eyes sharp as she replayed the start of Kurt's rant in her mind. He had mentioned the Gray Gargoyle, his last mission before his capture. Could that be it? Could there be a connection between that mission and the memory the Professor had sent her to find, the one the demons had repressed, shattering his psyche so the implanted Belasco personality would have a chance to take root?

The Professor was still urging her to press harder. They were getting close, but Kurt was still fighting to keep the memory buried. She would have to push him to his limit, squeeze him into such a tight corner that remembrance would be his only way out. Reassuring herself that this harsh approach would ultimately help Kurt to heal, Ororo continued her attack with renewed passion.

"That's still not good enough!" she snapped, fixing Kurt with her most imperious glare. Her eyes whitened and her hair began to rise as she menaced him back until he was forced to stop by the worn basin of holy water. "None of that was your fault, Kurt, especially Belasco's crimes against the X-Men! They were all forced on you by Azazel! He implanted Belasco's personality and memories into your mind without your consent—"

"NO!" Kurt exclaimed, his voice cracking as a flood of tears burst from his burning eyes. "Ororo, you don't understand…!"

"What don't I understand, Kurt?" Ororo demanded, refusing to let up on him even though the sight of him in tears was tearing her heart to shreds. "Tell me! Explain what happened to you after the Gray Gargoyle attacked."

Kurt shook his head, collapsing to the floor in soggy heap of misery and shame. Black tears as thick and slick as crude oil streamed down his russet cheeks, staining his cloak and pooling on the uneven stone floor in a viscous puddle. Ororo's heart jumped with alarmed concern at the startling sight, but the Professor seemed glad. At last, he appeared to be whispering, his ghostly voice bending around the corners of her mind. At last, the painful memory that had been locked away for so long was starting its rise to the surface.

Ororo lowered herself to the floor beside her friend, reaching out with a tentative hand to gently touch his shoulder. He flinched away, but she only moved closer, wrapping her slender arms around him until he finally gave in to her tender embrace, carefully leaning his horned head against her shoulder.

"My sweet Kurt," she sighed, brushing her lips against his pointed ear as she ran her fingers through his short, red hair. "It's time for the truth to come out. No matter what it reveals, I will never think any less of you. You know you can trust me."

Kurt pressed his nose against her snowy hair, breathing in the clean scent of her herbal shampoo as he struggled to control his wracking sobs. "With my life, Liebchen," he assured her, twining his tail loosely around her waist. "With my very soul."

#I made up some of this backstory, but it's mainly based in Comicverse fact. For more details on Neuhertzel, Winzeldorf, and Stephan's death, see _Giant Size X-Men #1: Second Genesis_, _King-Size Annual X-Men #4: Nightcrawler's Inferno, Part the Second_ (NOTE: Ororo gives Kurt a birthday kiss in Part the First!), and the animated DVD _X-Men: The Legend of Wolverine._ (The episode's name is _Nightcrawler._)

* * *

BAMF! 

Hank looked up from his office computer at the soft sound that had broken the silence of the medbay, his furry brow wrinkling in confusion—an expression which quickly turned to alarm when he saw the two red-skinned demons standing just before his desk.

"Oh, my stars and garters!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and backing up against his over-stuffed bookcase.

"And greetings to you, my good doctor," the taller of the two smiled, his black goatee providing a disturbing border for his sharp, white fangs. "I see from your expression that you've guessed who I am, but I believe you have yet to meet my son." He gestured for the other demon to step forward. This one was clean-shaven, sporting meticulously styled red hair and a haughty expression that bordered on smarm.

"Henry McCoy," said Azazel with a theatrical flourish, "I'd like you to meet Mephistopheles."

"Mephisto, for short," the red-haired demon nodded politely, holding out a clawed hand for the doctor to take. Hank stared at it for a long moment, then looked into the demon's craggy face with wary curiosity.

"Surely you're not the same Mephistopheles—"

"From the famous history of the damnable life and deserved death of Doctor John Faustus?" Azazel broke in. "Of course he is. Not all my children have proved to be disappointments, after all."

Hank narrowed his eyes. "If I remember my Goethe correctly," he said, "wasn't Faust redeemed in the end?"

Mephisto scowled darkly. "That is a lie," he growled. "No matter what Goethe may have written in his vaunted play, that fool Faustus paid for my services with his soul, just as we'd agreed. I escorted him to our dimension personally, where the renowned scholar now serves as one of my father's slaves in retribution for his hubris."

"Ah," said Hank with a nervous smile. "So, I take it you prefer Christopher Marlowe's version of the story, then."

Mephisto's cold, amber eyes flashed. "Are you mocking me, mutant?" he spat, leaping up to crouch menacingly on Hank's desk, scattering his papers in all directions. Hank dropped to the floor with an involuntary cry, falling into a defensive crouch of his own. Azazel held up his hands.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, please!" he placated. "We're wasting time with this childish behavior."

He turned to Hank, placing a firm hand on Mephisto's shoulder as he climbed down from the desk.

"I know you are holding my son, Kurt Wagner, in the other room," he said.

"Kurt Wagner is my patient, yes. And he's currently in terrible shape, no thanks to you," Hank glared, hauling himself to his feet and crossing his long arms over his thick chest. "His genetic code is in a state of violent flux, and he's in constant pain."

"I know that too," Azazel said calmly. "In fact, that's why we've come."

"Why?" Hank snapped. "To gloat?"

"No," Azazel smiled, his pointed teeth clenching slightly with the effort of holding Mephisto back. "To help you restore your friend to his proper form. When my son awakens, I want it to be to his own face, his own body, and his own powers."

"Pardon my frankness, but neither of you seems to me to be of the philanthropic sort," Hank frowned, trying his best to ignore Mephisto's freezing glare. "Why would you go to all this trouble for a son who has repeatedly rejected everything that you stand for?"

Azazel's thin lips twitched slowly upwards in a small smile that showed no teeth. Hank shuddered despite himself.

"Mephisto," the black-haired demon ordered, striding past Hank through the open door to the medbay, "hand me my plasmotic alternator. We have a great deal of work to do, and not much time in which to do it. Doctor McCoy," he called over his shoulder, "you can either stand there or you can assist us. It's up to you."

"Of course I'm assisting," Hank declared, heading the demonic pair off before they reached Kurt's bed. "But I'll be damned if I'm going to let you two anywhere near my patient before you first give me a full and detailed account of exactly what you intend to do to him."

Azazel and Mephistopheles exchanged a look.

"We will provide you with a _brief_ overview of the procedure," Azazel allowed. "_As_ we work. But I'd advise you to be more careful about how you phrase your thoughts from now on, Doctor," the demon smirked, his burning eyes cold. "The next time you threaten your own damnation, I just might take you up on it."

* * *

Be sure to tune in next time for the climactic flashback, when Kurt's darkest secret is finally revealed! 


	16. Chapter Fifteen

WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SCENES OF DEATH AND VIOLENCE, INCLUDING THE SEVERANCE OF A LIMB. (three guesses as to whose.) VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Chapter Fifteen

_Kurt stood with Ororo on the threshold of memory. It was like standing before an enormous movie screen, peering through an invisible divider to a completely different world just beyond. The images flooded their senses, yet there remained an almost surreal feeling of separation. For this show they were to be observers, protected by the distance of time. The participants were on the other side…_

The Gray Gargoyle's cave was far from the cold, desolate place they'd been expecting when they'd first received their assignment. In fact, the place was almost unbearably hot. Rivers of magma snaked by, splashing dangerously into fiery pools. Logan turned his head to shoot Kurt a wry smirk.

"Kinda makes me wish we'd thought to bring some marshmallows, eh Elf?" he joked. Kurt smirked back, but didn't respond in kind. Something about this sweltering cave was making his fuzzy skin crawl, and it wasn't just the large, black spiders that seemed to lurk in every crevice.

"Try to keep your mind on task for once, mein Freund," he said, keeping his accented voice as light as he could. "Call it my Gypsy intuition, but something about this place doesn't feel right. The sooner we find the Gargoyle's weapons stash and leave, the better I'll like it."

"It isn't just you, Nightcrawler," Sage said, adjusting her hood over her dark hair. "I feel it too. And these awful spiders aren't helping matters." She shivered in disgust as she brushed one of the hairy arachnids from her shoulder.

"Hmmm," Benny Salway mused. "If I were a crazed stone Gargoyle bent on destroying all mutantkind, where would I hide my nuclear warheads?"

"When you figure it out, let us know," Sage snapped, frowning disapprovingly at the eighteen-year-old trainee. "In the meantime, I'll run a scan. The electromagnetic interference is weaker in here than it was outside, so our instruments should work."

"Good to know," Benny said, his third eye blinking in curiosity as he leaned in close to peer over her shoulder. Sage took a pointed step away from him, never pausing in her work. Melinda Blake, a raven-haired girl with creamy, lavender skin and ruby red eyes, flashed him a warning glare. This was their first real mission, and the nineteen-year-old fire manipulator was desperate to make a good impression.

Kurt sighed, silently clenching his teeth as he watched the exchange. He didn't think he had ever felt so deeply angry and sincerely worried as he did at that moment, and he knew he had to push those distracting emotions aside if he was to stand a chance of making a success of this mission. The problem was, he still couldn't fathom what Xavier had been thinking, assigning these two kids to his team. While it was true that the older students did need more real-world experience, Kurt could think of any number of missions more appropriate for a training operation, and he had vehemently argued his point with the Professor for days. Ultimately, Xavier had actually gone over his head, stubbornly insisting that the best students needed to work with the most elite teams, facing adversity far beyond their experience, if they were to stretch beyond their perceived limitations and live up to their full potential. After all, he'd argued, Kurt had been only nineteen himself when he had gone on his first mission as an X-Man, and then he'd had to fight against a living island. The nuclear threat posed by the Gray Gargoyle, while potentially devastating, was actually pretty standard business by comparison. Besides, Benny's remarkable telekinesis and Melinda's fire manipulation could be extremely useful to the mission.

While Kurt agreed with some of the Professor's points, Xavier's continued reassurances did nothing to ease his disquiet, and he knew Sage and Logan shared his view. Benny and Melinda may have earned the top grades in their respective classes, but success with tactical models and Danger Room Sims, no matter how realistic, could not guarantee how the students would react to the real thing. There were no safeties here, no observer in the control booth, no comfortable mansion waiting just beyond the sliding doors. Here, if even one of them were to freeze or panic under pressure, it could very easily mean the difference between life and death for the entire team. In Kurt's opinion as team leader, Melinda's and especially Benny's classroom-bred arrogance and dangerous naiveté made them more of a liability than an asset in this potentially deadly circumstance.

"Hey, Elf," Logan greeted as he came up beside him, his voice so low that even with his pointed ears, Kurt had to strain to hear him. "We're in luck so far. The Gargoyle's been here, but not for the past few hours. If we work fast, we just might be able to pull this off before he comes back."

Kurt nodded, but kept his eyes fixed on the trainees. Benny was using his telekinesis to drop rocks into the nearest magma pool, while Melinda frantically lectured him, all but begging him to cut it out before someone noticed.

"Look at them, Logan," he said, keeping his voice just as low. "How nervous they are. How young." He sighed deeply, leaning his head against the cavern's uneven rock for a moment. "I will have to talk with them again before we can go on."

Logan nodded slowly, giving the air a quick sniff. "They're scared, all right," he agreed, "but they're tougher than they look. I may not agree with Chuck's decision to stick us with them, but I do know this."

He turned to face Kurt, looking him straight in the eye. "Don't pull the reigns too tight on 'em," he said. "Give 'em their head room. They might be green, but they need to know we have confidence in them—especially you, since you're the leader." He shrugged. "Who knows," he said, a strange gleam softening his flinty eyes. "They just might surprise you. Like you surprised me, kid, way back when you were nothin' more than a circus-boy show-off."

Kurt's eyes widened at that and he opened his mouth to retort, but he was interrupted before he could make a sound.

"There's another cavern twenty-six meters to the south-west," Sage spoke up, snapping her scanner closed and reattaching it to her utility belt. "There's a block of interference so thick even my equipment back home couldn't pierce it. That must be where he's storing them."

Kurt nodded, suddenly all business. "Then that's where we're going," he said, striding over to Benny and Melinda. They jumped when they saw him approaching, halting their bickering and coming to attention at once. Kurt resisted the urge to roll his eyes heavenward, even though with his solid yellow corneas they probably wouldn't have been able to tell anyway.

"We think we've located the warheads," he said, keeping his voice low in the echoing cave, "and we're about to move out. Before we go, though, I want you to keep some things in mind." He took a breath, trying to think how best to phrase what he wanted to say.

"I know you've been training for this mission a long time," he told them, "but this isn't a Danger Room simulation. If something goes wrong, I don't want to see any bravado or heroics. Our goal is to locate the warheads, render them inoperable, and get our tails back home—hopefully without being discovered. We don't want to have to say here a moment more than necessary, so I'm going to need you both to stay focused. So far, you've been doing very well, but keep in mind that we don't know enough about the Gargoyle to predict his actions. There could be any number of booby traps between us and those warheads, so keep your guard up. OK?"

The two teenagers straightened in acknowledgement, suddenly serious under the weight of their leader's stern, golden gaze.

"Yes, sir," they chorused softly.

Satisfied, Kurt turned to Logan, who nodded with the smallest of smiles. Kurt returned the nod, then silently indicated that his friend should take the rear, where he would best be able to alert them if someone—or something—approached. Sage took the lead with her scanner.

The small group reached the cavern Sage had indicated with no trouble. While this relieved the trainees, it only increased Kurt's uneasiness. Especially when they found the five warheads stored in plain sight, just behind a thick, fang-like stalagmite that was standing like a pillar beside the cavern's only entranceway. Rows upon rows of pointed stalactites hung from the ceiling, giving the gray, shadowy space an eerie resemblance to the inside of a shark's mouth.

"Blast," Sage snarled, giving her scanner a good whack. "It's the interference. My equipment's gone dead again."

"Wolverine," Kurt said, a cold chill starting in his stomach, "can you tell if these warheads are active?"

Wolverine inspected each of the weapons in turn while Sage searched the walls for a hidden control panel or anything that could be causing the interference that was blocking her scanners. Benny and Melinda took up positions at either side of the entranceway, keeping a sharp look-out.

"You're not going to believe this," Wolverine growled after several long minutes, "but not only are these things not active, I don't think they're even real."

"Was," Kurt gasped, a chill of apprehension snaking up his spine. Suddenly, this was no longer a straight-forward mission. If these warheads were fake, that meant the Gargoyle's threats had been a ruse to lure them this cavern. But for what purpose…?

"Wait a minute," Benny exclaimed, obviously annoyed. "Do you mean this whole thing was a bluff? I can't believe this! My first actual mission and it turns out to be a false alarm!"

"Shut up, Benny!" Melinda frowned, her large eyes darting to the shadows at the far end of the cavern. "The mission's not over yet. Did you just see that?"

"See what?" Sage asked, coming up beside the teenagers, her dark eyes sharp and her expression wary.

"Back there," Melinda said, pointing. "I thought I saw something move. It looked like…"

She trailed off with an uncertain glance to Nightcrawler.

"Like what?" Sage prompted. Melinda suddenly looked sheepish.

"Well, it was probably just Nightcrawler's shadow," she mumbled, flushing deeply. "I mean, no offense, but there aren't many other people out there with tails like yours, Herr Wagner."

"You'd be surprised, kid," Logan grumbled dryly as he sniffed the air. Suddenly, he bared his teeth, his senses on full alert.

"What is it?" Melinda asked, her eyes wide with apprehension.

"That ain't no shadow you saw, girlie," the Wolverine growled softly, clenching his fists in anticipation of a fight. "There's four of 'em, 'Crawler. Back there, in the shadows. Three men, one woman. And the Gargoyle's with them."

"Lieber Gott, it's a trap," Kurt announced with deep conviction, his tail twitching agitatedly behind him. There was something evil out there, something immensely powerful pulsing at him, pulling at him…a cool, reptilian voice whispering softly at the corners of his mind. Whoever was lurking in those shadows, they were after blood. He wasn't sure how or why he could be so certain, but Kurt knew better than to question the warning in his heart. If he didn't get his team out of this cavern immediately, they were never getting out. Wolverine could have his fight another day.

"We've got to get back to the jet," Kurt said, his words clipped. "Now."

"What? Why?" Benny asked. "What's going on?"

Before anyone could speak, something small and fast whistled past the teen's nose. Kurt gave a short cry of alarmed pain, clapping a hand to his neck.

"A dart," he exclaimed, pulling the tiny needle from his neck as quickly as he could, praying the tip wasn't poisoned or drugged. The movement at the back of the cave was more apparent now. The demonic silhouettes were slinking closer. With his night vision, Kurt could just make out the russet hue of the tallest shadow's smooth skin, the lines of his narrow face. He knew those proud, aristocratic features…so familiar yet so foreign. Somehow, Azazel had found a way to return to Earth.

"Run," Nightcrawler ordered his team, his accented voice sharp with command. "Back the way we came. Schnell!"

There was no hesitation. Kurt took the rear as his team began racing back towards the magma river. Barely had they gone ten feet, however, when a deep, chilling voice barked out a strange incantation. Instantly, a powerful forcefield leapt up in front of them, so close that the five of them collided full force with the shimmering wall of orange energy. Lightening bolts of agony tore through their spasming muscles as their own momentum threw them back into the dim cavern—winded, aching, and half-paralyzed. It was from this prone, helpless position that the five X-Men got their first real glimpse of the Gray Gargoyle.

The Gargoyle was a squat, thickset figure with leathery skin as thick and tough as a rhino's. His blunt, square face was like a mask, his expression hard and cold as stone, but his small, piggish eyes burned with an icy flame. He loomed over the X-Men like a deadly specter; his leathery, bat-like wings spread wide in a predatory posture that radiated menace.

"Why…why did you bring us here?" Kurt rasped, gasping with effort and pain as he struggled to turn his head towards Azazel. To his shock, however, the demon was no longer there. Nor were his shadowy companions. Only the Gray Gargoyle remained, his cold eyes now focused on Kurt.

"I'm sure the Master has his reasons," the Gargoyle spoke slowly in a deep, rumbling bass, causing Benny to give out an embarrassing, involuntary whimper. "But mine are simple. I was promised the full return of my senses if I carried out a certain number of tasks. Already, I have regained my hearing. By destroying you, my sense of touch and taste will be restored."

He sighed, his stony face nearly wistful as his eyes unfocused. "It has been centuries since I have last been able to feel the rock beneath my feet, to taste the pale fish that swim in the lightless lakes. The death of five strangers is well worth the prize. But do not worry," he assured them, his gravely voice taking on an eerie sort of kindliness, "the end will be swift, and if you remain still there will be no pain."

Logan glared, baring his teeth at the Gargoyle from the cave's uneven floor. "So," he growled, "you're tellin' me that you can't feel nothin'? Not even if you stepped into one of those magma pools out there?"

"It is an unfortunate side-effect of my condition," the Gargoyle explained, melancholy self-pity leaking from his glowing eyes. Logan nodded slowly.

"Well," he commented gruffly. "That's a real shame, bub. I was really hopin' you'd feel it when I did **_this_**!"

Before the Gargoyle could react, the Wolverine was on his feet with a roar, his sharp adamantium claws embedded a full six inches into the creature's tough belly. But if Logan expected the Gargoyle to simply fall over after that, he was sorely disappointed.

The instant he withdrew his claws, the deep slits he had created in the creature's thick began to glow, the dull gray heating up to the color of liquid magma as the wounds quickly closed without even leaving a scar. Infuriated, Wolverine attacked again, slashing and punching with blinding speed, a feral glint of madness growing in his flinty eyes as the Gargoyle simply stood there and took it.

The paralyzing effects of the forcefield's energy were very slowly starting to wear off, but it still took an enormous amount of effort for Kurt to turn his head towards the rest of his team. Benny had landed right next to him, where he was now staring up at the spiked ceiling, his young face pale with terror.

"Benny," Kurt hissed, smiling when the young man managed to turn his head enough to look at him. "Your telekinesis," he prompted, gesturing with his chin towards the fight going on just in front of them. "Try to help Logan."

"I—I can't," Benny whispered back, his three eyes wide with something very close to panic. "I can't move!"

"Benny," Kurt said, keeping his voice as calm and authoritative as he could under the circumstances. "You can do this if you concentrate. Use your mind."

Benny took a deep, shaky breath, struggling to collect his waning courage. "OK," he said. "OK, what do you want me to do?"

"Try to move that Gargoyle closer to me," Melinda's voice spoke up from Benny's other side. Kurt turned his eyes to her, a proud grin instantly brightening his features. Somehow, the raven-haired girl had managed to turn herself over onto her side with one arm stretched out before her. Her ruby eyes were blazing with effort and fierce determination. "I need a clear shot. He may be able to stand up to adamantium, but I'll bet he can still burn."

"Good thinking," Sage praised, her voice tight and laced with pain. "This damned paralysis shouldn't last much longer. If we can hold the Gargoyle off, I calculate that we should be able to make our way back to the jet within five to seven minutes."

"Sage, are you hurt?" Kurt asked, the strain in her voice causing a cold dread to race along his spine, making his tail give a painful twitch.

"A stalagmite," she panted, keeping her voice low and calm. "Got me in the side when I landed."

"Oh my God," Melinda gasped, her voice bright with concern and fear, "Oh my God, you're bleeding!"

Sage swallowed, gathering her strength, then turned her head to shoot the girl a reassuring smile. "I'll be all right," she asserted. "You sock that Gargoyle a good one for me, OK, Melinda?"

The lavender-skinned girl nodded, but her ruby eyes remained wide and apprehensive as she returned her focus to the one-sided fight going on before them.

"Benny, you ready?" Kurt asked.

"Got him," the boy smiled, all but his third eye closed as he used the power of his mind to lift the startled Gargoyle from the ground and drift him closer to Melinda.

"Logan, down!" Kurt warned his friend as a roaring blast of flame burst from Melinda's lavender fingertips, encompassing the Gargoyle in a binding swirl of fire. Logan dropped flat, the searing heat passing within inches of his head.

Under the fierce onslaught of Melinda's fiery attack, the Gargoyle's thick skin gradually began to glow. His white eyes burned brighter than Melinda's hottest flames, and even though he couldn't feel the heat on his skin, it was clear she was having an effect. Benny's breath began to hitch as he struggled to keep the creature still. Kurt reached out to place a strengthening hand on the boy's shoulder, silently grinding his teeth against the sharp, tingling pain the movement caused him. The gesture seemed to calm the struggling teenager, though, and his breathing slowly became less ragged.

"It's working," Sage whispered, her drawn face brightening slightly. "Keep it up, Melinda, you've almost got him…"

Just then, the Gargoyle's leathery wings burst open and stretched to their full span, the flames fanning out to lick their bony tips. Benny screamed, clutching his head and curling into a shuddering ball of sheer agony. Melinda tried to force herself to her feet, keeping one arm outstretched as she fought valiantly against the pain lancing through her slender body to keep her flames from dying. The Gargoyle fixed her with his blazing eyes, flapping his wings once, twice, three times to send the fire that ringed his glowing form shooting right back to her.

Melinda shrieked and fell back, her raven hair ablaze. Logan jumped to his feet, crouching to spring at the Gargoyle and knock him from the air, but this time the Gargoyle was too fast. Holding out one arm, a blast of white energy shot from his palm, freezing the Wolverine just before he could pounce. All color was leached from Logan's uniform and skin, the brightness was sucked from his adamantium claws. Kurt blinked, his jaw dropping in sickened alarm as he realized what the Gargoyle had just done to his best friend. What had mere moments before been a living, breathing man was now nothing more than a statue of lifeless stone.

"_**NOOO!**" Kurt screamed, pounding at the invisible divider that kept him apart from his defenseless team. "Not again! Let me in there! I won't let this happen again!"_

_"Kurt, stay back!" Ororo warned sharply, trying to pull him away. "You can't let yourself get too close—"_

_Kurt spun on her, his golden eyes wild, half-mad, hot tears streaming down his russet face as the long-repressed memory continued to unfold._

_"I have to save them, Ororo," he told her, his voice cracking with emotion. "You don't understand—they're all going to die!"_

_His expression frantic, he turned back to the battle, where Melinda was now fully engulfed in her own flames, a crackling fireball with blazing, ruby eyes bravely gathering the last of her strength to launch a final blast at the Gargoyle. Before she could lift her arms, however, a second stream of white energy burst from the Gargoyle's palm and Melinda fell to the ground, her flames dying around her as her lavender skin was transformed to blackened stone._

_"Oh, God, no," Kurt sobbed, slamming his horned forehead against the barrier. Ororo tried to reach out to him, to calm him with her presence, but he was too far gone, his eyes distant and his narrow features set with determination._

_"I have to stop this, Ororo," he said, taking several slow, measured steps backwards, never taking his eyes from the Gargoyle's square face. "I couldn't save them before…I couldn't help them! They were my team, my friends—I was responsible for them and I let them down! I teleported away when I should have stayed there and shared their fate. Well, not again!"_

"_Kurt, no! Don't—"_

_But, before Ororo could stop him, Kurt was running for the invisible border. He disappeared an instant before he collided with it, jaunting through the barrier with a resounding BAMF! With a cry of alarm, Ororo raced through the already dissipating teleport smoke to where he had just been standing. Pressing a helpless hand against the boundary, she watched in despair as, no longer shielded by the distance of time, her dearest friend was sucked into the prone body of his former self. His worst memory had now become his only reality_.

Through sheer strength of will, Kurt forced his stiffened, aching body to sit up, to bend its legs, to rise into a crouch. The pain was nearly unbearable, but he couldn't just lie there while his team was under attack. His power of teleportation was utterly useless as long as his movements remained restricted by the lingering effects of the forcefield. He had to move, to get the blood flowing again. He had to attack at once, or they would all be lost.

He had an opportunity. Perceiving that the immediate threat had been taken care of, the Gargoyle was taking a moment to fly around the cave, cooling down after Melinda's attack. Kurt glanced over at what was left of his team, wracking his mind to think up some kind of plan that would allow him to get them all out. Sage was starting to shiver, her face pale and her breathing ragged, a growing puddle of blood slowly staining its way across the uneven surface of the cave floor. Even so, the brilliant mutant was hard at work, her slender fingers tapping rapidly at the keypad of one of the instruments she kept at her belt.

"Setting….to give out…charge," she explained between rasping breaths, somehow managing to flash Nightcrawler a determined grin. "Throw at….Gargoyle……and teleport…" Her grin faltered for a moment as her dark eyes turned to Benny, who was still curled in a protective ball. "At least…." she whispered, "you can….get him….out."

Kurt opened his mouth to protest, but Sage shook her head. "No heroism," she said, her eyes sharp. "No…bravado. You said……yourself…"

She closed her eyes, resting her head back against the floor. Kurt crawled stiffly over to her, one eye fixed on the circling Gargoyle as he knelt by her side.

"I know what I said," he told her, blinking back a sudden wave of unexpected tears. "But I can't abandon you here, Sage. I'll 'port you both out. Now, before he comes back. Just give me your hand."

Sage shook her head again. "I couldn't……..take the…strain," she admitted with great difficulty, slowly opening her pain-bright eyes. "Stalag…stalagmite….went all the way through…."

She took a deep breath, gathering all her remaining strength to press the device she'd been working on into Kurt's hand.

"Just throw it," she whispered, "and 'port. And Kurt…" she shuddered, her voice hitching as a tear leaked down her pallid cheek, "May God—may God be with you."

She fell back with a sigh, her breathing shallow and her eyes closed. Kurt watched her for a long moment, the stark knowledge that there was truly nothing he could do for her clawing at his heart. He looked over to where Logan still stood frozen, poised forever for an attack that would never come. Melinda lay at his feet, pale curls of smoke still rising from the charred stone remains of what had once been a brave, intelligent young woman. Benny was now rocking slowly, a thin string of drool stretching from the corner of his mouth. Kurt could only guess what the Gargoyle's dramatic escape from his telekinetic hold had done to the boy's mind. His entire team lay scattered around him, broken, dead, or dying. And at that sight, something within Kurt's mind snapped.

Baring his fangs, Kurt surged to his feet with a feral roar that would have rivaled Wolverine. The Gargoyle turned his square head, swooping towards him on his leathery wings. Before he could land, however, Kurt threw Sage's device.

At that second, time seemed to slow down. As Kurt released the device from his right hand, the Gargoyle simultaneously fired a bolt of white energy from his palm. Kurt saw it coming and tried to fall back, reaching out for Benny with his tail, when he felt the first stinging effects of the Gargoyle's blast graze the tips of his fingers. The color drained from the fur on the back of his hand with impossible speed, his fingers grew heavy and lost all feeling. The horror of what was happening to him hadn't even had time to penetrate when, in an action that was purely instinctual, Kurt suddenly found himself initiating a teleport. He reappeared mere moments later, dizzy and nauseous, landing hard on his back in what looked like a deserted alley. It was only then that the reality of what he had done hit home.

"NO!" he cried, fighting his way out of a pile of rotting crates and festering garbage. "Benny!"

Picturing the cave in his mind, Kurt struggled to calm himself, to recall the unique 'feel' of the space he had just teleported from. It would be a long shot, especially since he had absolutely no idea where he was, but if he could picture the exact coordinates of the Gargoyle's cave, there was a chance he could jaunt himself back there before the monster attacked Benny and Sage. His unexpected teleport had come so quickly that he didn't even know if her shocking device had worked!

After several moments of intense concentration, Kurt believed he had it. Taking a deep breath, he activated his power—

And nothing happened.

This was confusing, but Kurt was too worked up to give it much thought. Instead, he tried again—

And again, nothing happened.

By this time, a good deal of his adrenaline rush had faded and his knees were starting to give out from under him. Even so, he wasn't ready to give up. Focusing on the end of the alley, he tried to teleport one last time…

And ended up collapsing in an exhausted heap instead. Swearing loudly in German, Kurt tried to pry himself off the stinking crates with his tail, but just as with the teleporting absolutely nothing happened. Frustrated and angry and physically drained from the strain of his unwanted escape, Kurt grabbed on to a nearby brick windowsill with his left hand and yanked himself forcefully into a sitting position. The window had long since been shattered, but a thin pane of reflective glass still remained in the corner. Completely exhausted, his mind in too much turmoil to think straight, Kurt simply stared at the unfamiliar image he saw reflected there.

A striking face with deep blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a long, aristocratic nose was blinking back at him, framed by an unruly tousle of dark, chestnut curls. It took several long moments of blank staring before he suddenly recognized the pale, blood spattered features as his own.

"What the hell—!" he exclaimed. Jumping unsteadily to his feet, he swallowed hard against a rising swell of panic as he replayed in his head how the reflection's pink lips and flat, fangless teeth had moved in perfect time with his speech. Crouching back down before the glass, Kurt slowly, deliberately shook his head back and forth, opening and closing his mouth without making a sound. The human in the broken window mimicked his movements exactly. It was very creepy, like he was the dupe in an old vaudeville act.

"Nein," he told the reflection firmly, half fascinated, half appalled at the way the man's furless brow wrinkled over his astonishingly blue eyes. "This can not be real."

To prove his assertion, he reached up to pinch his cheek with his right hand, only to experience a sickening mental jolt when—just as with his tail and his attempts at teleporting—nothing happened. Looking down in confusion, the reason why at once became shockingly and gruesomely apparent.

Kurt's entire right arm was missing. It had been severed just below the shoulder, leaving only a horrific, gory stump. His pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out all thought as he slowly, tentatively lifted his other hand, holding it up before his eyes. With his glove on, it still looked normal enough, but Kurt could tell something was very wrong. Feeling oddly detached from events, he pulled the three-fingered glove off with his abnormally flat teeth and stared at his hand again.

This was impossible. Four fingers and a thumb, all slender and perfect; pale, smooth, furless skin…

Tilting his head in something darkly akin to curiosity, Kurt watched with wide, wild eyes as he stretched out his hand—his impossibly normal, five-fingered, pale pink left hand—and passed it through the space where his right arm should have been. As he did, a fat drop of blood landed on his palm. The blood was warm and slick and utterly, revoltingly real.

And with that understanding, Kurt Wagner began to scream.

* * *

NEXT TIME: A mob. Oh dear, poor Kurt. But it wasn't my idea to do this to him! I'm just trying to repair the damage done. But, guess what! A massive showdown between Kurt and Belasco (with swords!) is planned to occur in chapters ahead and then--the final twist! Stay tuned! :D 


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Ororo came to herself with a stomach-lurching mental jolt only to find she was back in Cerebro, sitting next to Xavier. An insistent blue light was flashing on the control panel, but her brain was too fuzzy for its meaning to register.

"What am I doing here?" she asked blearily, her disorientation lifting like morning fog as the appalling events of the past few minutes rushed back to the forefront of her consciousness. She spun on the old man then, frantic, her crystal eyes wide beneath her sleek, silver helmet.

"No, I can't be here!" she exclaimed. "You have to help me go back! Kurt has teleported through your divider and now—"

"I know, Ororo," Xavier interrupted, removing his helmet with pointed deliberation. "I was monitoring you both, if you remember. But powerful as my gifts may be, I can still only deal with one crisis at a time. And right now we are receiving an emergency signal from the medbay." He flicked the silver switch beside the warning light, which Ororo now saw was a silent alarm originating from Hank's lab. Hank's urgent voice burst from the speakers barely a moment later.

"Charles, we have a situation down here," he said, his voice low and wary as though he feared someone else might hear. "Kurt's father has appeared along with one of his minions. They demanded to see Kurt-I couldn't stop them. Scott is keeping watch, but I have to say I do not trust their motives."

"Bright Goddess," Ororo breathed, bringing a hand to her chest.

"And Jean?" the Professor asked, his tone clipped with urgency and worry.

"She's unconscious, but stable," Hank assured them. "However, I'm afraid she had to pull out of the fight. The psychic strain of holding off that demon nearly drained her. Another minute and I doubt she would have made it back."

Ororo swallowed, but even her worry for Jean was pushed aside when she realized, "But that means Kurt is alone with Belasco! Charles, you have to help me go back-"

"Don't think I don't share your concern, Ororo," Hank's low voice interrupted, "but in my opinion, it's Kurt's body we should be worried about now. The demons' claim is that they wish to help restore Kurt to his natural form, but I'm not about to take them at their word. There's a dark scheme at work here, and I refuse to let them carry it out. Not on my patient and not in my medbay! Thus, I require reinforcements."

Ororo worked her jaw, her expression conflicted. "But if we leave here, what is to stop Belasco from striking out at Kurt? He certainly can't defend himself the way he is now!"

"Actually, Ororo," Xavier said thoughtfully, "his current mental state might be his best defense. As long as his thought patterns continue to mirror his earlier memory, the Belasco 'program' should be unable to locate him and attempt another wipe of his personality."

"Yes, that makes sense." Hank's nod was almost audible. "So he should be safe, at least for now."

"Try to keep the demons distracted, Hank," Xavier advised. "Ororo and I will be down momentarily."

He closed the channel and turned his electric wheelchair away from the control panel with an air of finality, as if that was the end of the matter. Ororo stood, her mocha brow furrowed.

"You can't mean we're just going to abandon him to face those horrors alone," she frowned.

"Did I say that?" Xavier snapped, his eyes hardening with a rare flash of temper. "Kurt is in no danger, Ororo—at least not mentally. Whatever horrors he is experiencing in his mind have already happened. At this moment, I'm afraid there's nothing more we can do for him here. Hank is right. It's his body we should be most concerned about now."

"Yes," Ororo muttered under her breath, her blue eyes cold. "You just keep telling yourself that."

If Xavier heard her, he gave no sign. Without another word, Ororo followed the old man into the elevator; aloof, regal, and completely expressionless. Even so, deep inside it felt as though a freezing vice was being tightened around her heart.

Ororo had promised Kurt she would help him, be there for him. He had trusted her enough to open his mind to her, yet now that he needed her most she was being forced to walk away. It felt like betrayal. But most bitter thought of all was the knowledge that without Xavier's support, the former weather goddess was helpless to do anything about it.

* * *

The late evening skies were clouded and the air was cold as Kurt lurched down the deserted street, clutching the bloody stump that had once been his arm. His head was spinning with nausea, it was difficult to breathe, but still he kept his legs moving, stumbling over his pale, stubby toes and struggling to keep his wandering mind set on the road ahead.

A shadow brushed by him on clacking shoes, a tattered briefcase in one hand. "Hilfe…" he cried, holding out his bloodied hand as though that could stop the man from walking away. "Bitte!"

But he was already gone, swallowed up by the encroaching night. Kurt sagged against the wall of a run-down shop, shivering with pain and a horrible coldness that seemed to leach all the strength from his body. He knew he had lost a lot of blood, that he was probably going into shock. His legs felt boneless; a cold sweat had broken out on his face.

But he had to keep going. He had to keep walking—find a payphone, a church…anything. If he allowed himself to pass out here, he would never wake up. Even a short rest, a brief stop, could be deadly. If he even…closed his eyes…

A jingle of bells, a flood of light-

"Hey you!"

A gruff voice snapped Kurt back to painful consciousness. Shivering hard, he fought to lift his head…

"Freakin' junkies… Can't you read the sign? No loiterin' and no solicitin'. That means you, buddy. Do your beggin' someplace else! I run a respectable business here and I don't need you freakin' hopheads scaring off the customers, got it?"

It took a moment for Kurt's drifting mind to process the loud English words spoken in such a harsh tone. He blinked blearily up at the broad shopkeeper, and as he did he realized for the first time how terrifying the dark could be without the benefit of night-vision. Rather than providing relief, the light streaming from the shop's doorway only intensified the enveloping darkness, washing all the color from the crumbling street and turning the previously defined buildings and scraggly trees into monstrous shapes and looming shadows. The shopkeeper himself was a faceless form, his thick fists clenched and his dark eyes glinting beneath the shadow of his brow. Kurt felt a thrill of fear creep up his spine.

"You deaf or somethin'?" the looming man shouted. "I said get lost!"

Kurt tried to stand, but his wobbling legs gave out, his bare heels scraping against the rough sidewalk and the back of his head slamming into the brick wall as he crumpled to the ground. He swallowed the pain, the sudden jar causing his stomach to lurch and his throbbing head to whirl.

"Get up!" the shopkeeper snapped, kicking Kurt sharply in the thigh. "Get up! You can sleep it off someplace else!"

"Please…" Kurt tried, "…I'm not—"

But the moment he opened his mouth he knew he'd made a mistake. His head was spinning so badly…he barely managed three words before, suddenly, everything was coming up. Thick vomit splattered over the shopkeeper's shoes, the sidewalk, Kurt's blood-stained hand. A fit of violent coughing wracked his weakened frame, cutting off his horrified apologies before they had a chance to form.

If the shopkeeper was irate before, he was infuriated now. His broad face reddened and his dark eyes began to glow a livid green as he opened his wide mouth in a truly horrible roar. Kurt cringed at the sound, curling himself up as small as possible against the graffiti-marred brick wall.

"What are you doin' out there, Rod?" a new voice called out, followed closely by a gigantic pair of old, weather-stained leather shoes. Kurt closed his eyes tightly, trying again and again to activate whatever it was in his brain that allowed him to teleport.

"Phew! Lordy what a stench! Looks like he nailed you good, man."

"It ain't funny, Frank," Rod growled through clenched teeth. "I've a right mind to make an example out of this one."

"Yikes," Frank commented, crouching down to look Kurt over. "Looks to me like somebody already did. There's blood all over his clothes, cuts on his head… You sure this guy's a junkie?"

"Well, you tell me," Rod glowered. "He's filthy, dressed in stinkin' rags, he reeks of garbage, and I found him passed out in front of my shop. What else do you need?"

Frank shook his head. "I don't know. He looks like he's been beat up pretty bad, but I can't hardly see anythin' in this light." He stood with a grunt of effort. "Let's bring him inside."

"Heck no!" Rod exclaimed, outraged at the very thought. "I ain't bringin' no stinkin' junkie into my shop, especially if he's bleedin'! Lord knows what diseases these people might be carryin', shootin' up all day with those filthy needles of theirs! Bad enough he threw up on me! I'm not about to let him bleed on me too!"

"Well, we can't just leave him here," Frank proclaimed. Stepping back into the shop, he called, "Liz! Hey, Liz! Bring me that flashlight, will you? You know, the one Rod keeps behind the counter. Yeah, that's the one."

Kurt opened his eyes again just in time to see a girl with mottled gray skin, perfectly round, fish-like eyes, and wetly flapping gills come rushing to the doorway, a flashlight in her scaly hand. She handed it to an enormous, middle-aged man with dark green skin and hair, all the while staring openly at Kurt. The giant smiled down at the girl, then crouched by Kurt's side, turning on the flashlight and pointing it straight at his face.

"Ach!" he exclaimed, flinching away from the sudden brightness.

"Sorry," the green man apologized, and Kurt immediately recognized his voice as Frank's. At that moment, something clicked in his swimming brain, something that made his heart begin to swell with hope. Somehow, he had landed in a community of mutants. If he could just gather his strength…focus his thoughts…surely they would understand what had happened once he explained who he was. He could be back home at the mansion by morning!

"Please," he panted, swallowing hard to stave off another bout of vomiting. He spoke slowly, enunciating each word with careful precision. "Please sir, you have to help me. I am not a drug addict. My name is Kurt Wagner…Nightcrawler, from the X-Men."

Rod snorted from the shadows above. "You ain't neither. Nightcrawler's blue, ain't he? If you're him, then how come you ain't got no blue fur?"

"Wait!" Liz exclaimed, "I read in the newspaper that sometimes he wears a sort of hologram-maker thinggummy when he's out on missions. Ask him if he's wearin' a watch, Frank!"

"You mean my image inducer," Kurt gasped, his eyes widening as he realized he could make this work to his advantage. "It used to be a watch, but now it is a cylinder that straps to my belt." He gestured to the array of palm-sized instruments strapped to his utility belt, shifting his position against the brick wall. He had barely gotten settled, however, when his ears were met by a piercing scream, causing his heart to nearly leap through his ribcage.

"Oh, God, oh GOD!" Liz shrieked, both hands clamped over her wide mouth. "He ain't got no arm, Frank! Oh, God, he ain't got no arm! All that blood-"

"Get back, girl," Rod said gruffly. "He could still be dangerous. One thing's for sure, though. Whoever he is, he can't be no X-Man. They don't leave their own, especially when they're this bad off."

"They didn't leave me!" Kurt retorted sharply, his voice cracking with renewed pain as his muscles clenched. I was the one who left them, he berated himself, his heart heavy with guilt at the shameless way he had abandoned his team. But he didn't say that out loud. Instead, he hedged. "There was an accident. I…I teleported blindly. Right now, they don't know where I am. You…you have to call them. You have to let them know I'm here."

"He sounds sincere, Roddy," Frank observed with a thoughtful frown. "And he's definitely got one of them European accents. Isn't Nightcrawler supposed to be Dutch or Russian or somethin'?"

Kurt stiffened. "Deutsche!" he corrected firmly. "Ich bin-I mean, I am a German, mein Herr. I was brought up in Baden-Württemberg and in Bayern, near München--Munich." He sagged back against the coarse wall, exhausted and out of breath. "Now please," he pleaded weakly, his energy draining fast, his thoughts beginning to loose coherence. "Please, you must the X-Men call." He shook his head, recognizing something wasn't quite right with that sentence. "I mean, call the X-Men. The number ist hier…"

He reached into one of the hidden pockets in his tattered uniform and pulled out a crumpled business card, the kind he usually handed out to the parents of his students just in case they needed to contact him directly instead of going through the front office. He had used the back of this one to jot down the time for some meeting or other and had never gotten around to throwing it away--something he was deeply grateful for now. On the front was printed his name and the name of the school, the number of his office phone, his fax number, his e-mail address, and the address and phone number of the school. It was to this last section that he pointed as he handed the small card to Frank.

"There," he said with a weak smile. "My credentials. The number you need is right there."

Frank read the card, then passed it up to Rod. "Seems legit to me," he said. Rod just grunted. Frank shook his head.

"Don't you worry, Mr. Wagner," the green-skinned giant said, rising to his feet with a reassuring smile. "I'll go make the call right now. You just sit tight and your friends'll be here before you know it."

"Danke," Kurt breathed, then he gasped as he began to shiver even more violently than before. The shop door slammed with a muffled jingle of bells as he slowly slumped to the sidewalk, too exhausted even to lift his head.

He hadn't been lying there long, however, before a new sound forced him to open his eyes. Three young men and two scantily-clad girls--all of them obviously mutants--were making their way down the opposite sidewalk. From their too-bright laughter and stumbling gaits it was clear they'd just come from a night of drinking. They passed under a streetlamp, the yellowed light bringing their features into focus.

Kurt blinked hard, his breath quickening as he forced himself to sit up. One of the girls…she had lavender skin and black hair just like--

"Melinda!" he gasped, his hoarse cry oddly resonant in the nighttime air. The drunken party came to an awkward, giggly stop, peering through the shadows for the source of the call. Half delirious with joy and pain, Kurt staggered to his feet and began to shuffle his way across the street, warm tears streaming from his eyes. "Melinda, Gott sei Dank! You're alive!"

The lavender-skinned girl shrieked in alarm at the sight of the ragged, bloody specter lurching towards her. One of the boys leapt in front of her, pushing his glasses up his salmon-colored nose as he pointed his straight horns at the approaching stranger. But Kurt was too overcome to appreciate the danger he was walking into, his words of relief tumbling over his guilt-stricken apologies as he reached out to her…

"Keep back!" the horned boy warned. "Don't you come any closer!"

But Kurt kept moving forward, oblivious and disoriented. A dark haired boy in a worn leather jacket dashed into a nearby alley, his legs blurring with incredible speed. Barely an instant later, he returned with an armful of empty beer bottles and broken bricks.

"Get away from us!" he exclaimed, lobbing a bottle at the nightmarish figure with all his might. It hit Kurt on the head and he crumpled to the ground, hurt and bewildered. Sharing wary looks, the five drunken teenagers approached him cautiously, sticking close together behind the boy with the bricks.

"Listen to him talk," the horned boy said, frowning at Kurt's delirious babbling. "Did you ever hear an accent like that before?"

"He ain't from around here, that's for sure," the armed boy replied.

"Whoever he is, he's hurt real bad," the lavender-skinned girl observed with a look of deep revulsion. "Look at all that blood! You don't get that much blood from a regular street fight. This guy looks like he's been in a war!"

"Hey! You think he could be a terrorist or somethin'?" the third boy--a reptilian-looking teen with wings like a pterodactyl--spoke up from the back of the huddle. "Maybe he's, like, on the run from the FBI! Maybe there's a reward if we bring him in!"

"This loser ain't no terrorist," the boy with the bricks scorned. "Just look at him. I bet he ain't even a mutant. Just some stinkin' human that got caught on the wrong side of town. Probably deserves every wound he's got." Striding forward, he kicked Kurt sharply in the thigh.

"Hey you!" he shouted. "Flat-scan! What'd you do--run into a propeller or somethin'?"

Kurt stared up at the small gang from the street, his blue eyes glassy and his breathing harsh and ragged as he fought to focus his thoughts into coherent speech. "Didn't mean to," he gasped brokenly, "…to teleport… Would have turned me to stone… Gargoyle…had to stop… Mutants…help…" He trailed off, falling back onto the pavement, his fingers numb and trembling.

"Had to stop mutants?" the second girl repeated with a frown, brushing her short-cropped pink hair from her eyes. "Did you hear that? This guy's been beatin' up on mutants!"

Just then, the door to the shop opened with a jingle of bells and Frank, Rod, and Liz came filing out.

"Mr. Wagner, we called the school but only got the machine," Frank was saying, but he cut himself off when he caught sight of the scene in the street.

"Hey, what's goin' on here!" he demanded, running over to the teenagers. "Don't you know who this man is?"

"Yeah. He's one of them Friends of Humanity nuts," the dark haired boy declared. "We just heard him sayin' how he wanted us to help stop the mutants!"

"What are you talkin' about, boy," Frank glared. "This here's Nightcrawler from the X-Men! He even had a card!"

The horned boy snorted. "Card, my ass," he scorned bluntly. "No way this filthy flat-scan is Nightcrawler! He ain't got no tail or nothin'!"

"That's because he's wearin' a hologram, moron," Liz retorted, crouching down to snatch the instruments from Kurt's belt. "When I find the right one, the hologram will blink out and then you'll see…" She stood up and backed away, bewildered when nothing happened.

"See what?" the dark-haired boy smirked. Liz frowned, increasingly angry as she scowled at the instruments in her hand, then down at the unchanged human at her feet.

"Hey!" she exclaimed. "I think he lied to us, Frank! He ain't Nightcrawler after all!"

"I knew it!" Rod proclaimed. "He probably stole that card off the real Nightcrawler. I'd even go so far as to bet it was the X-Men that did all this to him! Makes sense if he's one of the FoH! Heck, he might even be their leader for all we know!"

"Then I say we finish what they started," Frank said coldly, his green face drawn with fury at how easily he'd been fooled. "These freakin' FoH bigots have been keepin' us down long enough. It's about time we got some of our own back!"

A sizable crowd of mutants had gathered by this time, pouring out from the apartments above the run-down shops to see what the commotion in the street was all about. As Frank shouted, they took up the cry, advancing on Kurt with anything they could find.

Kurt watched them come, blankly uncomprehending until Frank lobbed a brick straight at his head. Only his years of Danger Room training saved his life as he rolled away just in time and climbed to his unsteady feet, his head whirling and his heart pounding. It was only then that the full reality of his situation sank in.

The fact that he was standing seemed to enrage the crowd, their threatening shouts growing in intensity. Kurt experienced a sickening sense of deja-vu, his mind flashing back to that horrible night in Winzeldorf. Then, he'd been scapegoated because he was a mutant. Now he was human, he was seeing that same murderous hatred burning in the eyes of the mutants all around him. Only this time, Professor Xavier wasn't there to save him from their fury.

A sudden rush of terror surged a desperate strength into his shaky limbs as he ran for his life, the raging mob pounding close at his heels. Glass shattered all around him, the shards cutting his bare feet, bricks left painful welts on his back and legs, yet still he ran. He ran mindlessly, his thoughts as incoherent as those of a hunted deer until, suddenly, he found himself pressed up against a brick wall.

Acting purely on instinct, he tried to climb it, unable to comprehend why his palm and feet refused to stick to the rough surface. He tried again and again, scraping the skin from his hand and knees and toes, yet nothing happened. Turning around, he faced the on-coming mob, his blue eyes wide and wild as he crouched down, throwing his arm over his head in a futile attempt to protect himself from the rocks and bricks and bottles pelting down on him, battering him until he fell helplessly to the sidewalk, no longer able to move.

This was it. This was the end. As painful as it was, Kurt could almost laugh at the irony. His mother had been right. Everything he'd ever worked for, the cause he'd fought so hard to defend, was nothing more than an idealist's fantasy. Mutant or human, all cultures and communities were the same--fearing any person, thing, or idea that was different from the accepted norm. Xavier's Dream was a failure, and Kurt's death would be the final proof.

"Let that be my last thought," he whispered ruefully through cracked lips as he closed his eyes and gave himself over to--

"Stop that! Get away from him, all of you! Have you all gone mad!"

A new voice was rising above the mob's shouts, drawing him back from the darkness enveloping his mind. Slowly, Kurt raised his leaden eyelids, watching in blank befuddlement as the blurry shadows dispersed, leaving only two shiny black shoes standing before him.

Kurt tilted his head back, wincing as even that small movement stabbed his broken body with shooting pain. A flood of light met his tearing eyes, filling his heart with a strange wonder. From out of this light, a kindly face came into focus, the softly wrinkled face of a priest…

"Can this pitiful figure I see before me truly be Kurt Wagner?" the old man asked, his dark eyes filled with sadness as he stood over his prone form. "Where are your friends? Surely the X-Men would not abandon one of their own to a fate such as this."

Kurt closed his eyes, a searing guilt slicing through him as he thought of Benny and Sage, of how they must have faced their deaths alone and without hope of rescue. He had abandoned them. Why should he deserve any better?

Taking in a shaky breath, he managed a hoarse whisper. "Who…who are you?"

"Here, I am known as Mr. Church," the old man said, his gleaming eyes appearing almost gold in the dim light of the alley. "But you, my brother," he smiled, his white teeth lengthening into alarming fangs even as his hair and skin deepened in color to a dark, ominous red, "may call me Mephisto."(1)

(1) The preceding mob scene and Mephisto's appearance were taken from events in Universe X, Volume 2.

* * *

Erik was approaching the medbay from the other end of the corridor when the doors to the elevator opened for Charles and Ororo. Rather than speak out loud, he projected his questioning thoughts to his old friend to prevent being overheard.

"Supper for the rest of the staff and the students has been taken care of, although I did have to be rather creative in finding ways to stave off their questions about what's going on down here. On that subject, by the way, just how are we going to approach this situation? I doubt it would be prudent to simply walk right in without any strategy at all…" He raised a somewhat challenging eyebrow.

Xavier's thin lips twitched into a small smile. Speaking out loud, he said, "On the contrary, my friend, that is exactly what I was planning to do. You see, he already knows we're out here."

Ororo shot the two men an annoyed look, realizing some kind of silent exchange had just taken place. Before she could ask for clarification, though, Xavier had already maneuvered his electric wheelchair through the sliding door to the main medical bay. Swallowing her frustration, Ororo followed the old man inside with Erik close behind.

For an emergency situation, the scene that met their eyes as they filed into the cavernous room was surprisingly calm. At the far corner, Scott was sitting beside Jean's bed, gently stroking her vibrant hair as she slept. The monitors that flanked her showed normal rhythms and steady pulses--evidence that she would make a full recovery after her harrowing psychic experiences. It wasn't the two Summers that caught their attention, however.

"Ah!" Azazel smiled, striding forward with his hand outstretched. "Professor Charles Xavier, I presume! So good to meet you at last."

Xavier raised an eyebrow. "Indeed," he said, giving the demon's proffered hand the most perfunctory of shakes before gesturing to the others. "And these are my colleagues, Erik Lehnsherr and"

"No, don't tell me," Azazel interrupted, his golden eyes fixed on Ororo's face as he took her hand and raised it to his lips. Ororo felt a deep chill run through her at his unwelcome touch. She knew she had seen those eyes before…

"This can only be the lovely Ororo Munroe," the demon went on, oblivious to her reaction, "the woman who has held my son's affections for so long, yet has only now begun to show any signs of true reciprocation. Tell me, my dear, do you treat all your admirers so wantonly or only those whose looks don't quite match the so-called ideal?"

Ororo's blue eyes flashed a brilliant white, her long hair rising around her shoulders as she tore her hand from his grasp. Mephisto took a threatening step towards her, leaving Hank alone by Kurt's bedside, but Azazel waved him back with a low laugh.

"So," he smirked, his eyes roving over her figure in a way that made her feel uncomfortably exposed and increasingly angry, "the Storm Goddess's armor is not as thick as she would like us to believe." He leaned in close, causing her to shudder as the bristles of his black beard brushed against her ear. "If you keep wearing your heart on your sleeve, my dear, it is likely to tarnish."

She glared at him, moving back several paces. Azazel let her go, but kept his eyes fixed on her face as he continued, clearly goading her. "I offered that advice to my son upon our first meeting, but he proved unable to heed it. You can see the consequences." He cast a pointed glance at the unconscious Kurt.

"Azazel," Xavier interrupted firmly before Ororo's swelling outrage could erupt into violent fury, "why have you come here?"

The demon let his gaze linger on Ororo just a bit longer before he turned a rather disappointed expression on Xavier. "Really, Professor, with powers as vaunted as yours you shouldn't have to ask such obvious questions. I have come because my son is in need of my help. It's that simple."

"Is that so," Erik retorted, crossing his arms in front of his chest with a scowl. "Then why is it only now that you've decided to show up? Why didn't offer Wagner your help a year ago, or even a week ago? Why did you wait until he was this bad before doing something?"

Azazel shook his head. "Another slew of obvious questions! Clearly I didn't come earlier because it is only now that any help I could offer would be of use to him. To tell you the truth, before Miss Munroe's impromptu rooftop visitation I wasn't even sure if he could be helped. I don't know what you said to draw him out, my dear, but ever since then that tangled, schizoid swamp he calls a mind has been slowly crawling its way back to sanity, making it possible for me to finally offer him some meaningful assistance."

Ororo's whitening eyes were as hard as diamonds. "And why should we trust you?" she snarled, her snowy hair crackling with barely contained electricity as she advanced on the bearded demon. "You're the one who did this to him in the first place! If it wasn't for you"

"If it wasn't for me, he'd be dead!" Azazel snapped, his eyes flashing a dangerous gold. "Murdered by the ungrateful populace you X-Men had him convinced he had a duty to protect. I gave him a second chance at life, taught him how misguided he had been"

"And when he resisted, you wiped his personality and implanted Belasco's instead!" Ororo cried. "Replace a troublesome son with a loyal one, is that it? You probably thought Kurt was gone for good! But he proved too strong, didn't he, Azazel. And now that he's begun to recover his identity, you've come to finish what you started!" She curled her lip, her posture radiating menace. "You've come to help your son all right," she said, "but not Kurt. You've come for Belasco!"

Three slow claps echoed dully in the metallic room, overlapped by Mephisto's derisive snickering.

"Lovely speech," Azazel remarked. "And delivered with such fiery passion! I must say I'm impressed. You're quite wrong, of course, but I can understand how you could have come to that erroneous conclusion."

Mephisto snorted from across the room, speaking up without taking his eyes from the trilling instrument in his hand. "Belasco is nothing," he said bluntly. "He was a failure--an untalented, self-centered fool who longed for a prestige he never deserved. Kurt was the one with the potential. He just needed a little…prodding…before he would allow himself to put his skills to use."

"Prodding!" Ororo exclaimed. "You _brainwashed_ him! You stole his identity, altered his body, distorted his brain paths!"

"We had hoped that wouldn't be necessary," Mephisto frowned. "Kurt Wagner could have been second only to my father in power if he had just opened his eyes and embraced our cause. But he proved too stubborn, and the psychic treatments my sister performed on him didn't hold. He soon became unstable…irrational. My father placed him in Limbo before he could deteriorate too far, but ultimately he left us no choice but to perform a complete wipe of his personality and memories." He shook his head, raising his golden eyes from his instrument to cast an openly disgusted glance at Kurt. "Such a waste," he commented.

Erik furrowed his brow. "Then, it seems to me that you have no more use for him--at least not as he is now," he commented. "Why, then, have you chosen to help him?"

Azazel smiled behind his trim goatee. "My dear Magneto, I may be a demon but I am not a monster. For all his misguided shortcomings, Kurt Wagner is still my son. And you can trust I wouldn't be here now if I didn't believe he had earned the chance of a full recovery."

Ororo looked suspicious. "Earned how?" she demanded.

"By continuing to exist!" Azazel explained grandly. "Wiping Kurt's personality was the hardest decision I have ever had to make, and I can tell you Belasco made a poor replacement. I mourned my son, Miss Munroe. I mourned him bitterly. For all his obstinate defiance, he had always proved worthy of my respect. You cannot imagine my wonder when I learned he had survived the procedure!"

"A recovery like this should be impossible," Mephisto added, speaking clinically over his instrument. "Such spontaneous personality regeneration has no precedent, especially after a new personality has been implanted. We have been tracking his progress since we sent him out as Belasco over fifty years ago, and his resilience has proven truly remarkable."

Azazel beamed proudly. "And that is why I have decided to grant him the opportunity to return to his former life. Such an indomitable will should be rewarded. I want his remaining years on my Earth to be rich and happy, spent among the people he loves so dearly." He turned once again to face Ororo. "Surely you can't fault a father for wanting that for his child."

Scott rose from his seat across the room, his brow furrowed over his glasses. "So let me see if I understand you," he said, taking a few strides forward. "In order to reward Kurt for miraculously surviving your attempt to blot him out of existence, you're making this magnanimous offer to untangle the mess you've made of his genes and his mind so he can live happily ever after here with us. And then…what? What do you get out of this?"

For the briefest moment, Azazel stiffened, a dangerous gleam in his eye. Then, just as abruptly, his shoulders loosened and he began to laugh. But it was a chilling sound.

"There is a very old proverb, Mister Summers," he said darkly, his long tail writhing like a snake behind him, "that I think you might appreciate. It goes: Never look a gift horse in the mouth. This is a family affair, little man. My motives are my own."

"Fair enough," Xavier spoke up from his chair. "Far be it for me to argue with you. If anything, I would like to thank you for what you are doing for Kurt. I realize he is your son by blood, but ever since he came here at the age of nineteen we have all regarded him as an important member of our family. You can't blame us for being protective now that he's returned to us."

Azazel cocked an eyebrow at the elderly Professor; their sharp eyes boring into each other as though a silent power play was taking place. After a long moment, Azazel blinked. Xavier nodded.

"You will have our full cooperation for as long as is needed to rid Kurt of Belasco," he proclaimed, the firmness of his tone taking the gathered X-Men somewhat aback. "These facilities are at your disposal. How can we assist you?"

The demon's thin lips crept into a superior smirk. "Mainly by keeping out of our way," he said with a pointed glare at Scott and Erik. "McCoy can stay, however. His knowledge is limited in this area, but his skills might prove useful nonetheless. As for you," he peered down at the Professor, "I'll need you and Miss Munroe to continue your work in Cerebro. Yes, I know all about it, Charles, don't look so shocked. In fact, I was counting on it."

"Then I was correct to attempt containment," Xavier said, forcing himself to speak civilly, even if it was through clenched teeth. The demon nodded.

"You will have to get Kurt to attack with everything he has," he said. "He must force Belasco to give ground if we're to stand a chance of extracting the implant without causing further damage to Kurt's mind." He held up a clawed finger to forestall Xavier's next question, looking him up and down as though sizing him up.

"As you can guess, the operation is extremely delicate. So delicate, I would only entrust it to the most powerful telepath who has ever lived."

Xavier could feel a flush rising on his face, but before he could respond Azazel continued, his deep voice laced with more than a little smugness. "I will summon her directly once everything is ready. You just concern yourself with making sure Kurt is strong enough to fight Belasco. You may go."

And with a dismissive flick of his spaded tail, Azazel strode back to Kurt's bedside, where Mephisto and Hank were too preoccupied with their scans to take much notice of Xavier's bristling ire.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Sorry this took so long, everyone, butherefinally is the second-to-last chapter of _Belasco's Beatrice_! I started and scrapped so many versions of this it's not even funny, so ifyou see anything in here while you're reading that you think could use improvement, please let me know! Any and all constructive criticism would be deeply appreciated. Thank you:D

Chapter Seventeen

The demon Belasco sat back on his dark throne, his composed expression masking the burning rage swelling in his heart. His link with the physical body he inhabited was stronger than his enemies seemed to think. Even though the body itself was in a comatose state, Belasco had heard everything, every word of the conversation between his father and the X-Men. And what he'd heard had left him fuming.

Belasco had sacrificed everything to serve Azazel. His home, his humanity, his friends… His love. He had turned his back on the life he had known in exchange for his father's promise that he would impart to him the knowledge of the supernatural, that he would raise him up to the exalted position he had always deserved. But now, after what he had just heard, he was starting to see their pact in a new light. And it didn't look good.

All this time, Azazel had been using him, just as he had used him to get to Beatrice. He cared nothing for his ambitions, he had no appreciation of his talents. To him, Belasco was only a convenient means to an end. And that end involved Kurt Wagner, not Brunetto Donati.

Belasco growled, the sound rumbling low in his throat. To think that he had been so completely taken in by Azazel's smooth words, his easy promises. He'd been convinced his father had revived him as show of appreciation for all he'd done for him, that he had been given a new body and a new position as the Lord of Limbo as a reward. He had been so proud of his position, believing that ruling such an isolated plane of existence was a sign of his father's trust. And it had made sense! After all, if it hadn't been for him, Beatrice's twins Mephisto and Ginniyeh would never have been born and Azazel would have been without his two greatest and most powerful advisors. But now he could see how wrong he'd been.

His exalted position had been nothing more than an empty title. Limbo wasn't a prize, it was a prison! A boggy backwater of a reality plane with no real importance to Azazel's realm. He'd been placed there so his father could keep an eye on him while keeping him out of his important affairs--as though he were a child in a playpen! His entire existence for the past fifty odd years had been nothing more than a farce; his father's sick way of keeping Wagner--the only one of his children he had never been able to dominate--under his control. Belasco himself meant less than nothing to his father. He was just a "poor replacement" for the child he couldn't have. And that's what really stung.

All this time, it had been Wagner Azazel had wanted by his side. Wagner, the Gypsy brat provincial who had no understanding or appreciation of the power he could so easily have held, the power Brunetto had coveted all his life. The power he would never wield…

Belasco ground his sharp teeth together, his glowing eyes narrowing into fierce slits. His father had used him and he had betrayed him. He had sacrificed Beatrice to that cold-hearted monster for nothing. But if Azazel thought he was just going to give up this body to Wagner, he was dead wrong. He had earned this body. He deserved it, and he was going to keep it! Not for Azazel, but for himself. Azazel could go hang, along with whatever plan he had up his sleeve. He wasn't about to sacrifice his life for him again.

* * *

Kurt squinted in horrified alarm at the demonic face grinning down at him. Mephisto stood beneath the eerie halo of the corner streetlamp, looming over his prone half-brother with his hands on the hips of his black suit. His smooth, blood-red hair shone and his pointed teeth gleamed as he shot a superior snigger from his thin, aquiline nose.

"Not quite what you were expecting, am I?" he smirked, crouching down and tilting his head so he could look Kurt straight in the eye. "You were probably hoping to see a redeeming angel all in white, or maybe the famous tunnel beckoning you to heaven? But tell me, my brother," he said, "and speak the truth now. Do you really believe you deserve such salvation after all you've done?"

Kurt was in agony. His every breath was a painful struggle. Still, he managed a hoarse retort.

"I…I am not your brother," he hissed, clenching his teeth against the pain. "Leave me alone."

Mephisto's lips stretched into a half-smile. "Alone?" he repeated. "Yes, you are alone, aren't you. There are no X-Men friends to save you this time. I'm the only person on this world who knows where you are, and why you're here. I know what you've done, Kurt."

Kurt grimaced, his breathing growing sharper and even more ragged. "Go…go away…"

"It's eating you up inside," Mephisto persisted, his smooth voice so gentle, so understanding. "You keep seeing their faces in your mind--"

"Stop it."

"And it's a torture worse than your own pain. The agony of your broken body is almost a relief, isn't it? Each twinge and ache and sting soothes your guilt. You deserve this fate. The beating you received from that mob, the loss of your arm and your powers….it's all God's justice, isn't it."

"…no…"

"The price you pay for killing your team."

Hot tears stung Kurt's eyes, leaking down the scratches and bruises on his cheek and pooling in his ear. Every hitching breath brought a fresh wave of agony to his broken ribs, but the physical pain was nothing to the weeping wound in his soul.

"You killed them, brother. Or, rather, you let that Gargoyle creature kill them. And now, your worst fear has come true, hasn't it. Here you are, lying helpless in a rancid alleyway completely alone. The ideals you fought and sacrificed for, the ideals you killed to defend…they are meaningless now, empty words without substance. You've been abandoned by everything and every one you've ever loved. Now, even by God."

It was as if the demon was reading aloud from words printed on his heart. There was no denial in his tears. Only shame. Shame…and fear.

"I understand, my brother," the demon hissed, snakelike in his ear. "I've seen it so many times. But you're right. I should get going."

Mephisto's warmth vanished from his side as the demon rose to his feet. Kurt opened his eyes, squinting again at the bright light that surrounded his imposing form as he turned and started to walk away.

"Good bye, Kurt Wagner."

Every clack of the demon's shoes brought terror pumping into Kurt's heart. Coldness surrounded him, darkness was closing in so fast…

"Stop!"

The word tore from his throat like a terrified moth desperate for escape. And once it was gone, the rest of Kurt's desperate confession was soon to follow.

"Bitte, I…" He sobbed, an aching, horrible sound. "I don't want to be alone."

The demon paused for a long, tense moment. Kurt held in his short, gasping breaths until, slowly, Mephisto turned back to him, returning to crouch by his side once more. His gentle smile twisted into a smirk as he regarded his broken half-brother through knowing, yellow eyes.

"No," he said. "I didn't think you really wanted me to leave you. At this point, with your life ebbing away with such frightening swiftness, even my company must be better than none at all."

Kurt couldn't answer, too ashamed of his weakness to even look the demon in the face.

"What--" he gasped, his words dissolving into a breathless wince. "What do you want?"

"Believe it or not, I came to help you, Kurt," the demon said, his tone and expression completely sincere. "I wanted to let you know that you don't have to die today. Not like this; a helpless victim of a heartless mob."

He leaned in closer, his golden eyes fixed on Kurt's blood-shot blue ones. "You know in your heart why this happened; the real reason you're lying here in this filthy alley in a pool of your own blood. Your guilty conscience is fighting to deny it, but the truth is that the deaths of your teammates was an accident, a tragedy no one could have prevented. What happened to you tonight, however, was unforgivable."

Kurt narrowed his eyes in confused denial. "I don't--." He took in a shaky breath and tried again. "I don't understand…"

Mephisto shook his head, clearly exasperated at having to spell out the obvious. The expression on his russet face only made Kurt feel worse.

"Your friends died in the line of duty, fighting to protect humanity from itself," the demon explained grandly. "Despite its futility, theirs was a noble cause. You, on the other hand, are the victim of a hate crime. There is no honor in that. It is your death that would be the true tragedy tonight, because it would prove your friends died for nothing."

"What?"

The sound was small, but it had the right tone. Mephisto's eyes gleamed, the smell of victory already titillating his nostrils. He was on the right track. Just a little more time, and Wagner would be his…

"Listen to me, Kurt," he said in his most compassionate tone. "Mutant or flat-scan, humanity is all the same. They're fearful beings, mistrustful of anything beyond their limited range of experience. It takes only the tiniest provocation for that fear to turn to hate, for the defensive to turn violent."

He sat back on his heels with a sigh, his expression somber. "It's a shame that only now your eyes have begun to clear, my brother. All your life you've lived in a cloud, fighting in defense of a dream without substance. Your struggle has been as noble and as tragic as that of Don Quixote himself. But then, you always have been a romantic."

He smiled then, but his golden eyes remained deep with pity.

"I realize it's hard for you to hear this," he said, "but I can tell by your expression that you know what I've said is true. You've been tilting at windmills, Kurt, battling symptoms rather than attacking the core disease."

Mephisto placed a surprisingly gentle hand on his brother's shoulder, his expression soft with false sympathy as he watched the streaming tears pour from Kurt's reddened eyes.

"Listen," he said, his voice intense and sincere. "Don't try to speak. Just listen. You see me and my kind--our kind--as 'evil' because that's what the humans have taught you to believe. From your earliest days with your circus family all the way through your years with the X-Men, people you've cared about have recoiled from you, been afraid to let you get too close. Not because of anything you've done, but because of what you are, of what you can't help being.

"You, like me, are a son of Azazel. Your appearance, if not your actions, marks you as one of us, and that is what your comrades fear. They fear us because we remind them of their shortcomings. The human species are sinners all, and the one thing they hate above all others is to be caught in the act. So, it is our difficult and thankless duty to instill the fear of God into them, as it were, to play on their own guilt to keep them in line. As a result, we are despised by humanity for the same reasons prosecuting attorneys are despised by criminals.

"The devil exists, Kurt, to punish the guilty. To teach them a lesson, just like the lessons learned in Xavier's school. Understand, my brother…you and me, our father Azazel, all our kind…we were made in God's image too."(1)

Kurt closed his eyes, gasping and wheezing, oddly aware that his labored breathing was starting to take on a disturbing whistling sound. But in his mind, drifting and spinning as it was, Mephisto's words were beginning to click. Something about them sounded so familiar, like he'd heard them all before, long, long ago. In Sunday School, when he was a child. Wasn't there a story where Satan was portrayed as an advocate working for God…in the Old Testament perhaps…? He couldn't remember. He was too exhausted to remember. All he knew was that Mephisto's words made sense.

He opened his eyes again to see Mephisto's smile beaming down at him. Almost reflexively, he returned it. The warmth that small action sparked in the demon's golden eyes touched his failing heart.

"That's right," Mephisto said, his voice fading then coming back as Kurt began to flicker in and out of consciousness. "I knew you'd come around in the end. You don't want to die here, do you?"

"Nein," Kurt whispered, feeling warm and floaty and protected, detached somehow from the pain of his dying body. Mephisto's smile broadened into a reassuring grin.

"I can help you," he said. "But you have to come with me of your own volition. Take my hand, my brother. Our father is waiting to welcome you home."

"Home," Kurt breathed, awkwardly reaching into the streetlamp's enveloping light as he searched for Mephisto's outstretched hand…

"Bright Goddess… Get away from him!"

Mephisto spun in place as he jumped to his feet, snarling dangerously as a new figure stepped onto the scene. Kurt blinked in bleary wonder, the bright light from the streetlamp stretching into long rays as his watering eyes struggled to focus. The newcomer was a tall, stately woman with dark skin and gleaming white hair. Her eyes glowed with a fierceness that caused even Mephisto to take a step back. Kurt's heart filled with a marvelous awe as she rose slowly into the air, her slender figure radiant with power.

"Ein Engel!" he breathed, bringing his one hand to rest over his pounding heart. "Ein Engel für mir!"

"Kurt, get us out of here," the angel called to him, ominous lightening flashes brightening the dark clouds gathering above as she raised her arms to the sky. Mephisto growled, fixing her with a glare that could have cut through steel.

"Wagner is mine, witch," he snapped. "You cannot interfere with what has already come to pass."

"Shut up," Ororo retorted, a rumbling boom of thunder lending menace to her words as a lightening bolt whizzed just over his shoulder. "I've had my fill of you, and your slimy master. Kurt!" she called again. "Come on, pull yourself together! You're not dying, Kurt, this is only a memory. You have to concentrate now. Concentrate on getting us away from this place!"

Kurt didn't understand. A memory? What was she talking about?

"Ca-can't move," he rasped, shuddering deeply. "Ca-can't 'port."

"You don't have to, Kurt! Just think! Think yourself someplace safe…like that church! Remember the church? Come on! We don't have much time!"

Kurt closed his heavy eyelids, his spinning brain musing on the angel's instructions. Were they some sort of riddle? Was she trying to test him? He was suddenly frightened, frightened and unsure. She sounded so urgent…but what church did she mean? Weak as he was, there was only one church he could picture with any clarity…

The alley and all the surrounding buildings wavered like a heat mirage in the desert. Kurt closed his eyes tightly to fight down a wave of nausea. Somewhere far away, he could hear Mephisto roaring with fury, but it was a much closer voice that caught his attention as the landscape began to settle once more.

"Thank the Goddess! Kurt? Kurt, are you all right?"

Kurt opened his eyes slowly, surprised to find he was lying on the uneven stone floor of the ancient monastery chapel at Neuherzel with Ororo kneeling by his side, clutching his hand.

"Ororo?" he asked blearily, sitting up and staring at their linked hands; pale, pinkish tan against creamy mocha.

"Oh my God, Ororo!" he gasped, his memories returning in a sudden flash. "I almost…ach, Gott, I can't believe what I almost did! If you hadn't come just then…"

He blinked. "Wait a moment," he said slowly. "This isn't right. This isn't what happened. This isn't right!"

"Kurt, calm down," Ororo said gently. "It was only a memory. It wasn't real."

Kurt shook his head, his blue eyes wide and frantic. "Yes! Yes it was! I-I took Mephisto's hand and there was all this light! And voices…so many voices. And when I woke up…" He slid his hand away from Ororo's and raised russet claws to the level of his suddenly golden eyes. "I looked like this!" he spat, his voice harsh. "It was something in that dart they hit me with back in the Gargoyle's cave. It activated some dormant genes I'd inherited from my mother, allowing Azazel to reshape my genetic code however he wanted. He said it was necessary, that there was no other way to repair all the damage that mob had done to my body…"

He shuddered deeply, his spaded tail lashing the floor as he lowered his head and hunched his shoulders to his ears. "That dart was also why I'd lost my powers after teleporting away from the Gargoyle. Azazel had planned the whole thing just to capture me--the fake warheads, the Gargoyle's attack, the mob--and I walked right into his arms."

He shook his head, his short, red hair shading his glowing eyes from Ororo's view. "I should have died in that cave with my team. I should have let that mob of mutants kill me! How can I have been so selfish, so weak in the face of death? Mephisto was right. I don't deserve redemption. Some actions should not be forgiven."

Ororo frowned, grabbing Kurt's chin and forcing him to look into her eyes. "Don't you dare talk like that!" she glared, her blue eyes flashing a dangerous white. "You chose life, Kurt! That choice does not make you weak. If anything, it is a sign of strength--of faith even! Look at you! You've endured so much, been hurt so badly, yet you're still here."

"But as what!" Kurt demanded, his fangs gleaming in a fierce snarl as he surged to his booted feet, his cape swirling behind him. "I became a demon of my own free will, Ororo. I may have been at the point of death when I took Mephisto's hand, but I am still responsible for the choice I made. And the truth is that I gave in! I let Mephisto's arguments sway me."

Ororo shook her head in frustrated exasperation. "Kurt, you can't keep blaming yourself for--"

"Yes I can!" Kurt cried. "I was terrified, Ororo…terrified of death. If I'd truly had faith, as you say, I would have spat in that demon's eye and given myself up to God's judgment. Instead, I hesitated. I doubted. I failed!"

He took in a deep, trembling breath, no longer able to look Ororo in the eye as he admitted, "I deserve everything Azazel did to me, and more. I'm not the man you think I am, Ororo. I never was. This…" He held up his hand, his golden eyes dull as he flexed his clawed, russet fingers, "…this is me."

Ororo set her jaw, her nostrils flaring as she strode forward, grabbing Kurt's hand and yanking him to her so sharply he nearly lost his balance.

"Fine," she snapped, glaring straight into his eyes. "If believing you're a demon makes you happy, if carrying around all that guilt gives you so much satisfaction, then fine. I'm not going to argue with you."

Kurt glared. "Ororo…" he growled. But Ororo was only getting started.

"Actually," she said, "now I come to think about it, that must be why you stopped Belasco from strangling me on the roof the night I first came to see you, and why you rescued Jean and pulled Charles out of that psychotic mess you call the 'midden mire' before he lost his mind! It had nothing to do with the fact that you care about us! All those years with the X-Men, you were just putting up a front--pretending to be a decent, compassionate man when in reality--"

"That's enough!" Kurt roared, struggling to tear his arm from her grasp. But Ororo only held on tighter.

"But tell me this, Kurt," she said, her eyes boring into his. "If you're a demon, why is it that you always take refuge in a church when things get bad? I thought the damned couldn't stand on hallowed ground. And what about this?" she demanded, pulling him forward and shoving his hand down into the basin of holy water.

"This sacred water represents the truth," Ororo told him, relying on Charles to sort out the subconscious metaphors she was seeing. Kurt recoiled in shock as the clear water turned a deep red the moment he touched it. His shock only deepened when he pulled his hand out again. The skin the sacred water had touched was no longer red, but pale, and the paleness trickled down his arm in wriggly streaks as the crimson water dripped to the floor like droplets of blood.

"You see, my friend," Ororo continued, somewhat more gently than before, "you are no more a demon than I am a goddess. The truth is, we are both of us only human."

Kurt shook his head, his shoulders trembling involuntarily beneath his long cloak. "I didn't want it to be true," he said hoarsely, backing away from the concern in Ororo's eyes. "I don't want it to be true! It would be so much easier to live with the past if I truly was a monster." He looked up then, his fiery eyes dark with anguish.

"Why did you make me re-live those horrors? Why couldn't you have left them buried! What is the good of reawakening such…such pain!" His strained voice hitched as he fought back his stinging tears, his knees as fluid as water as he crashed onto a pew. "Sage, Melinda, Benny…Logan! I was responsible! But there was nothing I could do. Nothing. I could only watch as they fell around me. All of them. I lost all of them!"

Ororo couldn't endure any more. As swiftly and gently as a cooling breeze, she took a place beside him, wrapping his tense, trembling form in a tender embrace. Soothing softly, she ran her fingers through his curls like a mother calming the screams of her cherished child. And for once, Kurt didn't pull away.

He was tired. So tired of holding everything in, of carrying on with the act. She knew everything, she had seen the full extent of his darkness and guilt, yet she hadn't turned from him. She had witnessed his actions in the cave, and instead of accusing him of the murders he felt so keenly, she had approached him with understanding and compassion. She had watched him at his weakest moment, when he had reached out his hand to accept Mephisto's fateful bargain, and instead of turning on him with the disgust and horror he felt in his own heart, she had beaten the demon back and come to his rescue. And as he realized that, the understanding dawned within him that with this embrace lay the redemption he had dreamed of, the wish that had spurred the hope that had kept him alive all the years he'd spent lost and alone in the purgatory of his own mind. Now, surrounded by Ororo's acceptance--by her love--Kurt finally allowed himself to accept the reality of what she was offering him. The proof of her love overwhelmed him, toppling his bitter defenses and kindling a warmth he hadn't felt in decades.

With a choking sob, Kurt released whatever scraps of pride had been holding him together and leaned into her, as desperate to receive her comfort as she was to give it. His hot tears fell unabashedly as she smoothed his hair behind his pointed ears and rubbed his back in calming circles. Safe in her arms, he poured out all his bitterness and anger, all the defensive hatred he had used to keep his pain at bay, and allowed her love to rebuild him from the inside out. The open, weeping wounds at last began to heal. The need to suppress and hide and hurt finally melted away. And when he raised his head to look into her eyes, the man Ororo saw beside her was, at last, whole. Scarred, certainly. But whole.

Ororo's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in wonder at the change she saw in her friend. There was a new strength in his posture, a new ease in his manner. But his eyes…his eyes held the real change. For rather than shifting and blazing with anger and shame, their golden light met her gaze with open candor. And the emotion she saw reflected there was love. Her breath caught in her throat and she suddenly found herself blushing. The gentle smile on his indigo face was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

"Thank you," he said, reaching up with a thick, fuzzy finger to affectionately brush a few unruly strands of hair behind her ear. "Thank you so much, Ororo."

Ororo nearly broke out laughing in giddy delight at the way his familiar accent caused him to pronounce her name. Instead, she caught his eyes with a gleaming smile, taking his three-fingered hand in hers and pulling him close in a fierce hug.

"Oh, Kurt!" Her joyful tears dampened the fur of his neck as she breathed him in, squeezing him tightly as he wrapped his tail gently around her waist. For a long time they sat like that, reveling in the closeness of their shared embrace yet all too aware that the moment could not last. Their fight wasn't over yet. Belasco was still out there, spreading his malignance like a tumor.

Ororo sighed and loosened her hold enough so she could meet his eyes without fully breaking their embrace. It was time Kurt knew the full truth of what his father had done.

(1) Reference from _Universe X Vol. 2_

* * *

"But why?" Kurt frowned, pacing up and down the uneven stones of the ancient chapel's narrow aisle. "Why would he wish to help me? And why now?"

Ororo shook her head. "All he would say is that you've earned a full recovery," she said. "And I agree--on that point. Even so, I know he's up to something. Azazel is a patient man. His every action is layered with deceit and double-meaning. I can't help feeling this whole situation is only a part of something much larger, something none of us can see."

"Oh, it is," Kurt agreed. "I have no doubt of that. His plots can span centuries. But that doesn't mean he's infallible. We've managed to foil him before."

"But we knew what he was after then," Ororo pointed out. "You! Even Mephisto said you could have been second only to Azazel in power if you'd given in and taken up their cause. Yet now he seems almost eager to let you go." She frowned. "To my mind, it can only mean he's found someone else to take your place."

Kurt sighed through his nose, sinking down into the pew across from her. "Well, whatever he's plotting," he said, "my first priority is clear. I won't be of use to anybody if I can't reclaim full control of my faculties. You've helped me recover my mind, meine Liebe, and for that I shall eternally be in your debt. But Belasco is still in possession of my body."

"That's why you have to confront him," Ororo told him firmly. "Now, before he has a chance to realize what's happened. He can't use your guilt against you anymore, Kurt. He can hurt you, taunt you, but he will never again be able to overwhelm you. You're stronger than he is. This is your mind, not his. He's just a program--without substance!"

Kurt tightened his lips, uncertain. "Computer virus or whatever he is, he's real here, with real powers." He looked up at her, not even trying to hide his concern. "If he shunts me off to the midden mire again, I will lose everything you have helped me to gain. All my memories will be wiped. I'll be cast adrift again, a ghost haunting my own mind. Ororo, I don't think I could bear it!"

Ororo closed her eyes, her heart aching in sympathy and fear. She'd thought she'd understood the risks he would face if he confronted Belasco again, but now she realized this conflict was far more complicated than a simple battle between good and evil. If Kurt was to stand a chance of winning this battle--a battle for his sanity and his future--he could not approach Belasco as though he were a physical foe. The threat the demon posed was completely internal, and the battleground would be Kurt's entire subconscious.

As she considered this, Ororo was suddenly hit with a flash of insight that wasn't her own. Xavier was telling her something… She tilted her head, struggling to hear…

"Ororo?" Kurt asked, startled and worried by the way she'd tensed up so suddenly. "Liebling, are you all right?"

But Ororo was no longer in the church at Neuherzel. She was sitting on a chair in Cerebro, her eyes fixed on the Professor's wrinkled face.

"This is reality," he told her, his eyes sharp, just before he let her go again, sending her rushing back to Kurt's side. Ororo blinked in dizzy disorientation, accepting the supportive hand Kurt reached out to her. She shot him a weak smile, giving his thick fingers a reassuring squeeze. It was so strange. The last time she'd seen him in the medbay his fingers had been so swollen it had hurt her just to look at them. The slightest touch had caused him pain, despite the medication Hank had given him to keep him asleep--

Ororo gasped and her eyes opened wide. That was it! That was what the Professor was trying to tell her! She knew how Kurt could push Belasco back without fear of the dangers of the midden mire.

In reality, Kurt was unconscious. His mind was still active, but his brain was functioning as though it were asleep. The man she was speaking with here in this ancient church was only a representation of Kurt's thoughts and feelings, not Kurt himself. Everything she was seeing and experiencing here had no more reality than a dream. And that was how she had to get him to approach the situation now--as though it was a dream. A dream he could control…

"Kurt," she said, her bright eyes intense and her posture regal even as her lips quirked into a confident smile. "I have a plan."

* * *

The distinctive sound of teleportation was nearly inaudible over the roar of the green and orange flames that lined the walls and licked the high ceiling of Belasco's cavernous throne room. In fact, if he hadn't been listening for it, it might have escaped his notice all together. However, as it was, Belasco's sharp eyes had latched onto the two intruders the instant they materialized at the mouth of the shadowy cave. Watching their cautious approach through slitted lids, the demon couldn't restrain a smug smile. Like the wily spider with its web, his patience had paid off. His prey had come to him.

Slipping off his obsidian throne, the demon fell into a crouch at the edge of his tall pillar of stone. His one hand brushed against the pommel of the sharp sword strapped to his waist as he tracked the cautious movements of the two X-Men as they made their way through the cave. They just had to come a little closer…

Just then, a sputtering flame flared up, flooding the cave with a brief burst of greenish light. Belasco frowned, a jolt of surprise shocking his heart as he caught his first clear glimpse of his half-brother's face--and the face of his companion. For some reason, he had expected the red-head to return, seeking revenge for the thorough thrashing he had given her before. But this dark-skinned witch…he knew her. Hers was the face that haunted his brother's most secret heart, the face that had kept him from submitting to oblivion. Belasco knew the power she held over him, and he feared it now. For the first time, he felt his assurance beginning to slip. Her presence here was dangerous, and from his brother's physical appearance and confident bearing, it was clear she had already had an effect. How profound an effect, however, the demon could only guess.

"Fool," he hissed to himself, angered by his rising doubt. "Have you forgotten who is the master here? How many alternate versions of this weather witch have you destroyed? How many times have you choked the life from her body? The circus freak was helpless to stop you then. This time will be no different."

At the recollection of his former triumphs, his smirk began to return. If they were seeking to catch him off guard, that strategy had failed. He knew what to do now. He would deal with the dark-skinned witch first. Kurt would be left helpless once again, forced to watch as Belasco--

But wait… He'd been spotted. The blue freak was looking straight at him, calm and confident. Belasco straightened, rising to his full, imposing height, his hand on his sword and his long cape swirling around his blood-red boots. Kurt flashed him a quick smile from far below, then turned to his companion. Ororo nodded once, looking straight into his eyes. Then, she brushed his cheek with her hand and leaned in close, gracing his lips with a kiss that, despite its swiftness, was deep with unspoken emotion. Belasco set his jaw, his heart filling with fury as he prepared to jump--but before he could move, Ororo vanished. No sound, no smoke, no disturbance of any kind. She just…wasn't there anymore. Belasco stretched out with his mind, wary of a trap, but it only took a few moments for him to be certain she was really gone. She had left Kurt to face his demon alone. Belasco grinned. Even better. He would have the circus brat all to himself. It was time for their final showdown. Drawing his sword from its sheath, Belasco fixed his eyes on his foe and jumped.

* * *

Kurt only had moments to react before Belasco came crashing down on top of him, his heavy cape billowing behind him like the leathery wings of a bat. As quick as a thought, Kurt dived out of range, falling into a graceful roll that brought him smoothly back to his feet. Infuriated by his dodge, the demon surged to his feet and lunged for him, swinging his sword straight at Kurt's head. To his surprise, his attack was met with a sudden flash of steel as a sword appeared in his enemy's hand. Recovering quickly, Belasco backed off a few steps, keeping his blade before him as he began to move around Kurt in a slow, taunting circle.

"So," he sneered, his golden eyes derisive. "I see your witch has taught you a few tricks. But remember where you are, my fuzzy little friend. This is my realm. Here, my power reigns supreme."

Once, such threats from Belasco had filled Kurt's heart with trepidation and doubt. Once, his guilt, fear, and uncertainty had kept him from fighting back. But that was before Ororo had shown him the truth. Now, he could see the distinction between himself and the demon before him. He no longer blamed himself for Belasco's cruelty, which meant there was no longer any reason for him to hold himself back. It had taken him centuries to recover all the fragments of his memories and personality. Now that he had finally reclaimed his identity, he was fully prepared for the fight to keep it intact.

"Oh, I know where I am, Belasco," Kurt assured him, his posture straight and his shoulders relaxed even as his sharp eyes tracked the demon's movements. "And I know what you are. This is my mind, brother. And I mean to have it back."

Belasco bared his teeth, his tail beating against his cloak as he made a forceful slash to Kurt's shoulder. Kurt made a nimble parry, causing the demon to overstep. Spinning quickly, he aimed a sharp kick at the off-balance demon's backside, causing him to fall flat on his face on the ash-strewn ground. Belasco sputtered and spat, his golden eyes blazing with rage as he scrambled for his fallen sword. But the sight of Kurt's blade gleaming barely an inch from his face gave him pause.

"Go on," Kurt allowed, gesturing with the blade's tip to Belasco's sword. "Pick it up."

The demon glared, a threatening rumble starting low in his throat. Kurt just waited, his blade at the ready. But Belasco didn't move. He just closed his glowing eyes, his thin lips set in concentration. Suddenly, the ground gave a violent shake. Barely a moment later, the cave floor gave way under his feet and Kurt found himself tumbling helplessly down into utter darkness. Belasco's laughter followed him, the harsh sound echoing around and through him. It was as though the demon was right beside him, but when he reached out all he touched was the smooth edge of the narrow chasm. Kurt tried to swallow his rising terror, to convince himself that this was just in his mind, but his confidence was fading fast. The horrible rush of falling, the blackness that surrounded him, the acrid dust that choked the air--it was real. And Kurt had no control…no way to stop himself, no place to teleport…

And then, as suddenly as it had started, the freefall came to a jolting end. Kurt stood up slowly, cautiously, blindly holding his arms out in front of him in the darkness. The thick air was hot and reeked of sulfur. The dust filled his nose and scratched the back of his throat, sending him into a fit of involuntary coughing.

"Lovely, isn't it?"

Kurt raised his head at the sound of Belasco's smug voice, his blind eyes stinging and watering in the suffocating blackness.

"Where are we?" he croaked.

"What, do you mean you can't see it?" Belasco laughed in derisive amusement. "So, brother, for all your talk you still don't understand. Perhaps a little illumination is in order?"

A sharp finger-snap sounded right next to Kurt's ear and echoed in the smoky darkness. Almost instantly, the ground around him began to glow with a dim red heat. As Kurt watched, the glow increased and spread until, with a gasp of alarm, he realized where Belasco had dropped him.

Kurt was standing on a small island of charred, black rock in the center of a rushing river of flaming lava. The instant his mind comprehended his situation, a sudden rush of heat from the stone scorched his bare feet and he gave out a pained cry. Belasco's taunting laughter filled the smoky chasm as Kurt leapt from foot to foot in and undignified dance of pain and alarm.

Kurt clenched his teeth, fighting to supress the burning pain scorching his soles so he could clear his mind enough to think. The demon was playing with him, trying to discourage him with a show of power. But Kurt wasn't about to be intimidated. Not this time.

Swallowing his pain for a moment, Kurt forced himself to stand still, focusing his attention in an attempt to pinpoint the direction Belasco's laughter was coming from. The ash and smoke stung his eyes and the flowing lava spat and sputtered around him as he turned in place, casting his gaze up and around the smooth, black walls of the smoky pit.

Finally, just when he was afraid his feet couldn't hold out any longer, he spotted him through a cloud of volcanic dust. The demon was crouched on a long, corroded metal outcropping high above the lava river. It looked like some kind of support structure for a mining tunnel that had long since collapsed. The rotting beams jutted out from the wall about half-way across the smoky chasm. Kurt could tell the structure was unstable, but it had to be better than his rapidly melting island. Besides, Belasco's taunting cackles were really starting to get to him.

Gathering his strength for the difficult upward teleport, Kurt vanished with a resounding BAMF, reappearing just behind Belasco. The corroded metal bent and swayed under his grasping feet, and Kurt had to bend his knees quickly to maintain his balance.

"Nice location," Kurt observed wryly, resting his hand lightly on the hilt of his blade. "Although, if this scaffolding snaps under our weight we're barbequed. You do know that, right?"

Belasco spun around, his sword drawn and his lip curled in disgust. "Your fear is your weakness, fool," he spat, purposely causing the rusted beams to rattle and sway under their feet. Kurt was forced to wheel his arms to keep from falling. Belasco snorted. "If you understood the power I wield, there would be no reason to fear this drop," he scorned. "Face the truth, brother. I am the stronger here. You cannot win."

Kurt rolled his eyes, drawing his sword and spinning it by the hilt like a band leader's baton. "Perhaps you forget, 'brother'," he retorted. "I was raised on the trapeze. When it comes to heights and narrow beams, I'm not the one at a disadvantage."

"We'll see," Belasco said, his glowing eyes narrowed as he made his attack. Kurt jumped to the side, catching hold of a narrow beam with one hand and flipping out of range just in time to deflect the demon's next lunge. Kurt ducked down, aiming an upward slash to Belasco's chest. Struggling to keep his balance, the demon leaned forward with an awkward parry. However, at that moment the scaffolding gave a horrible creak and dipped down several feet. Kurt grabbed the beams with his hands and feet, but Belasco slipped backwards, the shifting of his weight causing the weakened metal to bend even further. The scaffolding sloped like a slide, forcing the one-armed demon to drop his sword as he scrabbled for a handhold. Alarmed, Kurt inched slowly toward him, grasping one of the narrower beams with his tail and holding his sword behind him as he instinctively reached out to his brother with his other hand.

"Grab hold!" he called, loosening his tail slightly in order to stretch his arm as far as possible. And to his relief, Belasco did. Belasco's deadly slip was halted as the demon's talons dug into Kurt's fuzzy arm, drawing blood. But Kurt ignored the pain, focusing instead on his struggle to pull the slightly larger man to safety. His balance became increasingly precarious as he inched upwards, but he didn't once consider letting go, even in spite of the obvious hatred burning in Belasco's eyes. Even so, as Kurt's progress became more labored, the calculating look on the demon's narrow face cracked into an eager smile. Timing his move carefully, Belasco gave a swift, powerful tug on Kurt's arm, raking the flesh and ripping the indigo mutant from the scaffolding he'd been climbing. Now, it was Belasco who was holding Kurt above the flaming brink, his boots wedged securely into the wildly swaying bars. The flash of panic in the mutant's golden eyes sent a rush of triumph surging into the demon's heart.

"So," he hissed through his pointed teeth, "do you still believe this is _your_ mind? That an ungrateful circus brat like you could wrest power from _me_! This body is mine, Kurt Wagner. I've earned it. I've sacrificed for it. And I mean to keep it!"

And with a fierce, psychopathic laugh, Belasco let go of his half-brother's arm, sending Kurt hurtling head over heels towards the flaming lava that bubbled far below.

* * *

To Be Concluded! Next time: The two combatants go from the depths of the Earth to a land of sky and clouds! It's gonna to get weird,folks, so stay tuned! (I just hope I can pull it off without having it go all silly on me!) Thank you so much for your patience with me and with this story! 


	19. Chapter Eighteen: Part One

Hi Everyone!

I _really_ wanted to get this chapter completely done before I had to leave for Virginia to see my sister's Coast Guard graduation. Unfortunately, because our contaminated water supply made me sick right after my birthday, I wasn't able to. So, what I'm going to do is I'm going to post it in little sections like I'm doing with _Small Steps, Great Leaps_. I know that'll make it a little choppy, but I wanted to get at least _something_ of this chapter up before I left for Virginia!

So here it is at last: Part One of the Final Chapter of _Belasco's Beatrice_! Hope you like it!

* * *

Chapter Eighteen 

"Come on, Kurt, pull out of it!" Ororo cried, clutching the edges of Cerebro's control panel as she watched him fall through the dark smoke towards the boiling lava spurting and bubbling at the bottom of the cavern. "Think yourself somewhere else!"

"You do realize he can't hear you," Xavier said dryly, although the drawn look on his wrinkled face showed he was just as worried as Ororo. "It's important that he works this out on his own. He'll get it. We just have to be patient."

"Patient!" Ororo exclaimed, incredulous. "Where's that helmet? We have to do something before--"

"There, look!" Xavier grinned in excitement, practically cheering as the scene on the monitor began to change. As it did, the screen displaying Kurt's brain patterns broke out in a burst of green, overshadowing the straight orange lines that depicted Belasco. "He's doing it! He's taking control!"

Her eyes fixed on her friend's image, Ororo held her breath as on the monitor the thick smoke slowly whitened and the atmosphere cleared until, instead of falling through a cavern, Kurt was tumbling through the clouds. The sky around him was a bright, summery blue, and flying towards him in the near distance was something that looked strangely like a sailing ship--

BAMF!

Ororo and Xavier both jumped at the sudden explosion of sulfur-scented smoke behind them. Their shocked expressions fell to annoyance, however, when they saw who was standing there.

"What are you two idiots playing at?" Azazel demanded furiously, his russet face darkening even further in his anger as he advanced towards them over Cerebro's suspended ramp. "I sent you up here to help my son, not to kill him!"

"What are you talking about?" Ororo frowned, her own anger at Azazel's blunt intrusion mingling with a sudden rush of sharp concern.

"How much stress do you think my son's system can take?" the demon glared, bearing his fangs. "No sooner does my serum complete the regeneration process and return his metabolism to normal when his heart rate and brain activity shoot off the scale! It was all your Dr. McCoy could do to keep him from going into cardiac arrest! Now I ask you again, what are you playing at?"

"Bright Goddess," Ororo gasped, the blood draining from her dusky face. "I knew I shouldn't have left him. He isn't strong enough for this! He hasn't had time to come to terms with the memories--"

"Don't start doubting him now, Ororo," Xavier spoke up, his cultured voice calm and unconcerned. "Look at this."

He nodded his head towards the flickering monitor screens on the control panel, indicating the squiggling mess of colored lines beside Kurt's image. Ororo leaned closer, her eyes widening slightly as she realized what the readings meant. A frowning Azazel leaned over her shoulder, his muscular arms crossed over his armored chest.

"What is being displayed there?" he demanded of Xavier. Charles glanced up at him with a bland look, refusing to react to the demon's belligerent attitude.

"It is a scan of Kurt's brain patterns," he explained in his most maddeningly even tone. "These ordered orange lines indicate the Belasco virus. The more organic, green lines represent Kurt himself."

"It's working," Ororo observed in amazement, a small smile brightening her wide, sapphire eyes. "The green lines are wrapping around the orange like a basket! And there are so many more of them than there were before."

"Yes, he's starting to pull himself together," Xavier nodded, "but even though he is growing stronger, the Belasco program is adapting itself to the changing environment." He looked over to Azazel, who was staring at the screen with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"If you're still planning on bringing in that telepath of yours," he said, his expression twisting ever so slightly. "I would do it soon. Even with our help, this is going to be a close fight, and I want to be sure we don't miss our opportunity to trap Belasco."

"Never fear, old man," the demon sneered. "My daughter is already here. We are ready to do our part. All we need is the correct sign from Kurt himself."

Ororo frowned up at him from her stool. "And what sign is that?" she asked. But Azazel ignored her.

"Continue your monitoring," he told them, shooting one last glance at the green and orange lines before turning on his heel with a swish of his long cloak. "Be sure to contact me if anything should go wrong. I shall be in the medical bay with my son."

And with a flaring puff of sulfurous smoke the demon was gone, leaving Xavier and Ororo alone once more to watch the battle playing out in Kurt's subconscious mind.

* * *

I'll be back sometime around the middle of next week with more story. See you then! 

Please Review!


	20. Chapter Eighteen: Part Two

Hi Everyone!

Sorry about the long delay, but my computer's been acting especially wonky lately. Either the Internet connection would only last for a few seconds, or it wouldn't work at all! But it seems to be working now, so let's hope it doesn't decide to clap out on me again before I can get this posted!

The delay gave me time to get two installments done, so I'm going to put both of them up. I'm really sorry this is taking so long to finish! Just a warning, though--the second part might be a bit disturbing to some readers.

So now, here's more from the final chapter of _Belasco's Beatrice_! Hope you like it!

:D

* * *

A fierce battle was waging on the deck of the sleek Imperial Cruiser (1). The massive ship sailed through the sky like a cloud-dwelling whale, its masthead pennants fluttering in the cool wind high above the clatter of glinting steel far below. Kurt tried to grab at the thick, colorful fabric as he hurtled towards the deck, but his momentum was such that his struggle only served to slow his fall, not stop it entirely. With a frightened yelp, he crash-landed right in the thick of the fight, flattening several blue-skinned pirates in the process.

"Aaaooowwwww," he moaned, rubbing his throbbing head and struggling to sit up. Unconscious blue bodies were scattered all around him, all of them scantily clad in gold and bronze with red bandanas over their black hair. As he rose to his shaky feet, he realized the pirate he had landed on was a woman.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, alarmed and mortified. "I'm dreadfully sorry--"

Just then, a plaintive female voice called out from just behind his left ear, causing him to give another startled yelp as he spun around to face her. Kurt's jaw dropped and his eyes widened at the sight of her. She was a tall, stunning blonde draped in flowing cloth of white and gold. Framing her pale, aristocratic features was an elaborate golden headdress bedecked with jewels. But it was her eyes that caught and held his gaze, her wide blue eyes so full of terror and pleading that despite his own confusion and fear, Kurt's heart went out to her.

"Please sir," the woman was sobbing, "I beg you--SAVE ME!"

Her last words dissolved into a terrified shriek as she pointed over his shoulder with a trembling hand. Kurt turned his head to see a mass of angry pirates hurtling his way, cutlasses drawn and gleaming in the sunlight.

"Oh dear…," Kurt muttered to himself, forcefully shoving aside his befuddled disorientation as he scanned the deck for a fallen sword he could use as defense against the pirates.

"Kymri's down!" one of the largest of the pirates growled, his fury evident in his golden eyes.

"Have at 'im, mates!" another even burlier pirate shouted, the point of his curved blade aiming straight for Kurt's heart. "Let's do for the swine what dropped our cap'n!"

"It was an accident!" Kurt proclaimed, ducking down under the burly pirate's slashing blade and falling into a roll even as he yanked a pair of swords from the gloved hands of two unconscious pirates. A third one, he hastily plucked from a nearby scabbard with his tail. "I assure you I had no intention--!"

But the pirates were on him now and he had no spare breath for speaking. He stumbled back to avoid another powerful slash, then, while the muscular pirate was bent over, he leapt up onto his shoulders and somersaulted over the heads of his attackers to land gracefully on the deck railing.

"All right, then!" he snapped, a confident, roguish grin spreading over his shadowy features as he accepted their challenge. "Have it your way!"

Holding his three blades out with a threatening flourish, he made a daring backwards flip and kicked out with his legs, diving straight into the heart of the fight. The blue-skinned pirates were clearly aiming to gut him, but Kurt nimbly dodged their attacks, skillfully using their own momentum and size against them. Not knowing what these pirates were actually fighting for, he wasn't willing to fight to kill. So, rather than slashing back with equal fury, Kurt was careful to use his blades only to parry their powerful attacks, his acute spatial awareness allowing him to sense where the attacks would come an instant before they arrived. He only lashed out with his fists, feet, and twining tail--punching, kicking, and flipping his way into beating the pirates unconscious, using all his carefully honed agility and control until at last, he was the only man left standing.

Grinning and exhilarated from the fight, Kurt rested the sword in his tail across his shoulder and leaned rakishly against the one in his left hand, surveying the damage with more than a hint of amazement and pride.

"Now," he smiled to himself, "that's what I call a workout!"

"YOU CUR!"

Kurt blinked in surprise, startled out of savoring his unexpected victory by the sight of a strikingly beautiful blue-skinned woman dressed very scantily in red and gold body armor. He recognized her at once as the woman he had accidentally landed on, and he couldn't help but reflect that her proud, determined features were far lovelier when she was conscious. Her long, curly black hair was held back with an elaborate golden clip and a red bandana was tied around her high forehead. She was clearly a warrior, her golden eyes seething with barely contained fury as she brandished her two swords, beckoning Kurt to take her on.

"You've not won the day, paladin," she growled through clenched, white teeth, every word dripping with deadly threat. "Not 'till you've bested me!"

Kurt raised an eyebrow, noting with some concern that despite her practiced stance she had not yet recovered fully from his inopportune crash landing. She held her right arm a bit too close to her side, and her eyes kept unfocusing, as if it was only her incredible willpower that was keeping her on her feet. Kurt was filled with great respect and admiration for this young leader's bravery. He was desperate to talk with her, to find out what she was fighting for. Unfortunately, he couldn't talk to her while she was armed…

He bowed slightly to the poised warrior, then smiled slightly saying, "If you insist."

With a deft flick of his wrists, he encompassed her blades and disarmed her in less than a moment, raising the cutlass in his tail to rest just under her chin. Although she was now at his mercy, the fierce, blue-skinned woman did not cower, nor did her firm gaze waver. Kurt felt his respect for her rise several more notches.

"I want you to know I am very sorry about all the trouble my unexpected arrival has caused," he told her, hoping his sincerity was reaching her. It was impossible to tell from her stoic expression. "If I might introduce myself? Kurt Wagner by name, also known as Nightcrawler. I'm a stranger here, who'd much rather be romancing a lovely lady than dueling her."

The woman spat on the deck at his feet. "I'd sooner snuggle with a sand shark," she snapped, holding her head up high and glaring straight into his eyes. Her defiant self-assurance struck a chord in his heart, sparking a strange feeling of déjà vu. He had been in this situation before, long ago…

The realization hit him with the force of a lightening bolt. Kurt rolled his eyes, disgusted with himself for not realizing it sooner. This was a memory! The memory of an adventure he'd had years ago, back when he had been the leader of British superhero team Excalibur. His mind must have sent him here to save him from falling into that horrible lava pit of Belasco's--

Kurt gasped, suddenly alarmed. Belasco was still out there…how could he have forgotten…?

Noting the change in his expression, the female pirate began to laugh. Kurt stared in startled alarm as her narrow features began to shift, her voice deepening until, within moments, the noble Kymri had been replaced with a smirking Belasco. Catching the gaping mutant off guard, the demon snatched the cutlass from Kurt's tail and stepped in close, pressing the sharp blade against Kurt's fuzzy neck.

"You really are a sap, aren't you," he snarled, fiercely backing his defenseless half-brother against the ship's railing. "I'm going to slice you up into pieces so small even Azazel won't be able to fit you back together again!"

Kurt grimaced, leaning backwards over the railing as far as he could. Darting his eyes around the ship in desperate search of an escape route, Kurt was startled to see the sleek Imperial Cruiser was deteriorating into a nightmarish ghost ship before his very eyes, the polished metal corroding in spreading patches of peeling rust. The pirates were waking up now, their deep blue features twisting horrifically as they advanced on him with glowing eyes. Others were swarming up the masts, streaming up from the lower decks like a hoard of mindless zombies. With the chill of Belasco's blade against his neck, there was nowhere to teleport, nowhere to run. Unless…

Kurt twisted his head to peer through the clouds below the flying ship. There was no sign of land that he could see, only an endless expanse of bright, blue sky. Under normal circumstances, leaping out into that expanse could mean certain death. But these weren't normal circumstances. This was his subconscious mind they were flying through. If Belasco could alter the environment according to his will, then Kurt should be able to do so even better. All he had to do was concentrate.

Shooting Belasco a defiant grin, Kurt vanished in a puff of smoke, reappearing several feet off the ghost ship's starboard bow. To his delight, instead of tumbling helplessly through the air, Kurt landed with both feet planted firmly on a cloud, the surface of which felt as firm and smooth as a ballroom floor.

"Ha!" he shouted in triumph, pulling a thin, sharp rapier and a long dagger out of thin air. Belasco glared at him from the corroded ship, slamming his fist down on the railing in fury. Kurt laughed.

"What was that you were saying about cutting me to pieces?" he called out, flicking the rapier back and forth like a whip.

"You haven't beaten me yet, little freak," the demon growled, leaping from the ship with a roar as he lunged straight for Kurt's belly. Kurt snagged his blade, pushing it away with a graceful half-turn then coming back with a cut to Belasco's shoulder. The demon clenched his teeth in livid fury, parrying the cut so forcefully several sparks flew from their clashing blades. Using his dagger in concert with his long rapier, Kurt entrapped his half-brother's notched cutlass, forcing it down to the solid cloud at their feet, then shoving Belasco away with his shoulder. The demon stumbled and nearly fell from the cloud, his arm wheeling in alarm as he struggled to recover his balance. Kurt wasn't about to give him that chance, however. Focusing all his concentration, he dropped his weapons and held out both hands, trying his hardest to picture an iron cage clamping shut around Belasco, hoping to cut the demon off from his mind for good.

Kurt gasped with the effort, but he smiled slightly as the ghostly bars started to solidify around the snarling demon. Unfortunately, before they had a chance to coalesce, Belasco made a swift slicing motion with his hand, cutting through the insubstantial bars and leaping off the edge of the cloud. Kurt gaped, then dashed after him, thinking only of keeping Belasco in his sights as he tumbled helplessly through the air.

Just then, the clouds parted to reveal a massive, raging whirlpool swirling just below them. Belasco grinned over his shoulder, his golden eyes disturbingly wild as he straightened his back and dived straight in to the black hole at its center. Kurt had just enough time to reflect that leaping after Belasco so mindlessly might not have been the wisest course of action after all before he, too, was swallowed up by the raging blackness.

* * *

(1) The multi-pirate fight scene and much of the dialogue for the preceding was quoted from _Excalibur #16: Warlord_ (Part of the Cross-Time Caper) by Chris Claremont and Alan Davis. The rest of the bizarreatude is all mine.

And that's the end of the first part. Second installment coming up!

:D


	21. Chapter Eighteen: Part Three

Now here's the second installment! Once again, I will warn that this bit may be somewhat disturbing to some readers. Viewer discretion is advised.

* * *

Kurt came to a sudden stop, only to find himself in a strange, enclosed space. The darkness was complete, even for his night-adapted eyes, but it was the smell that disturbed him most. It was truly unbearable, even worse than the oppressive humidity and searing heat that pressed against him like a suffocating blanket. It was the smell of stale sweat mingled with the sickeningly sweet stench of decay and death and illness. Kurt wrinkled his nose, blinking blindly as he tried to use his sense of special awareness to get a feel for the size and layout of the stifling room. He'd only been at it for a moment, however, before a strange chill ran up his spine. He froze, the short fur on the back of his neck and arms bristling. There was a presence behind him…barely there, almost insubstantial. He could feel its proximity hovering close to his left ear, making his whole side tingle with discomfort. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, fighting back his terror as the spectral presence began to speak.

"You know that feeling you get when you're alone in the dark," it hissed. "The feeling that there's someone watching?"

The deep, ghostly voice was so faint Kurt had to strain to hear; yet at the same time it seemed to fill the room. He clenched his fists, his tail wrapped so tightly around his leg it was beginning to hurt.

"Who are you?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady and strong. "What is this place?"

But the voice didn't answer. Kurt opened his eyes to the blackness, only to leap back with a frightened yelp as a vaporous ball of pale, green light burst right in his face, leaving him in a darkness even deeper than before. Before he had a chance to recover, however, a slight, tired whimper to his left startled him so badly he nearly leapt out of his fuzzy skin. Turning quickly to face the sound, he found himself face to face with a pair of eerie, glowing eyes. These eyes were green and glassy, more like the eyes of an animal than a human. A moment later, that observation was confirmed when the creature they belonged to moved towards him on all fours, rubbing up against his legs and beating its long, fluffy tail across his knees.

"Why, you're a dog, aren't you!" Kurt exclaimed in relief, crouching down to scratch the tired, overheated canine behind its floppy ears. His accented voice sounded oddly muffled in the sweltering room. "Who's memory is this?" he wondered aloud, rising again to try to search for a door. "I don't remember ever being in a room like this."

The dog whimpered again, then started to wheeze, falling over to its side as it panted for breath. Kurt backed up against the wall in alarm, suddenly terrified that the dog had been infected with something catching. The smell of decay grew stronger as the dog's wet, gurgling pants grew ever more ghastly. At that moment, Kurt was grateful that he couldn't see.

"Mroer?"

"Yipe!"

Kurt jumped in place, clutching a hand to his pounding heart as a cat stepped out of the darkness and onto his shoulder, rubbing against his cheek before leaping down to the floor. It blinked up at him with yellow-orange eyes, squeezing between his ankles before it, too fell to the floor. Concerned, Kurt bent down to touch its soft fur, only to pull back with a shrill, horrified scream when the cat's cold flesh collapsed into an oozing pile of gore.

"What is going on!" he shouted, thoroughly terrified. "Belasco!"

"Kurt!"

Kurt jumped in surprise to hear a familiar voice. A spark flared in the corner, replacing the blackness with flickering shadows. But even the weak light provided by the cheap plastic lighter was enough to reveal the speaker to Kurt's astonished golden eyes.

"Kitty!" he exclaimed, dashing over to where the brown-haired young woman was sitting crosslegged on the filthy wooden floor. "Kätzchen! How did you get here?"

Kitty shrugged, standing up so she could look him over. "The Professor sent me," she said, meeting his eyes with a smile. "When I heard you'd come back to us, I just had to see you for myself. I've missed you Fuzzy."

Kurt smiled, his heart filling with affection for the girl as he squeezed her shoulders with both hands. "Mein Gott, Kätzchen, you look just as I remember you. It has been so long…" He sniffed, his voice growing slightly hoarse. Kitty shook her head, stepping forward for a warm, sisterly embrace.

"Come on, Fuzzy, don't get like that," she scolded gently, pulling back so she could look up at him. "We've all missed you, you know. Rachel and Jubilee and Rahne and Bobby--oh and especially Ororo." Her smile grew sly as she waited to see Kurt's response to that last observation. But Kurt hadn't even heard. He was slowly backing away, trembling visibly from hair to feet, his narrow face twisted into an expression of horror and crushing guilt. For, although she had embraced him as a healthy, spirited young woman, Kitty--his Kitty, the girl he had rescued and watched grow up--his Kitty had pulled away from him as a rotting corpse.

"Kurt?" she asked, her dry, papery brow stretching as she narrowed her lusterless eyes. "Kurt, is something the matter?"

Kurt was unable to answer, unable to do more than stare as she started towards him, lurching like a puppet with a broken string. As she moved, a clump of rotting hair peeled back from her head, taking with it a patch of thin, yellowed skin. Kurt could now see the plate of her skull, and through that the pale watery blood that was soaking through her brain. She stopped several inches in front of him, reaching out to touch his arm.

Kurt shuddered violently and pulled back, the force of his reaction sending him toppling onto an old, moldy cot hadn't noticed before.

"Ow, hey!"

The mold-spotted sheet lurched under him as the cot's disgruntled inhabitant sat up. Kurt scrambled desperately to his feet, not wanting to imagine what could be under there, only to gasp in shock a moment later as Sage's dark head poked out from under the sheet. At first glance, she seemed perfectly normal--but then she stood up, revealing the gaping wound in her belly. Kurt gasped at the grisly sight, his breath quickening as images began to flood unbidden into his brain--Sage lying in the cave in a pool of her own blood, Sage's determined smile as she pressed her modified shocking device into his hand…

"What are _you_ doing here," she demanded angrily of Kurt, pushing past him to stand protectively in front of the peeling Kitty. The entire side of her torso was stained with blood; her uniform was stiff and dark with it. Gray-black patches of powdery mold spread from the stain all the way down to her shoes, growing in fuzzy patches up her neck and just behind her ear.

"I--I…" Kurt tried, but his throat felt constricted and he couldn't get the words out.

"You shouldn't be here!" Sage growled, glaring at him in furious accusation. "Don't you realize your presence is toxic!"

"Was?" Kurt breathed weakly, his eyes darting around in terror as more rotting figures began to emerge from the shadows beyond the weak light of Kitty's flickering lighter. "Toxic…?"

"Why don't you get outta here, Elf," Logan's gruff voice snarled viciously. Kurt's eyes widened in shock and pain to see his best friend come staggering towards him, his stony face notched and scratched, his claws broken.

"Yeah," Benny scowled darkly, his third eye leaking a thick, viscous liquid as he glared at his former leader. "Haven't you done enough already?"

Kurt's breath was coming in hitching gasps now, tears streaming down his face. He shook his head, reaching back in hopes of drawing some support from the wall behind his back, only to have his ears met by a piercing scream.

"Don't touch me!" Melinda cried in terror, dragging her scorched remains out of the corner to stand shakily behind Logan. Her once delicate, violet features were now all but unrecognizable; her slender fingers were nothing but charred bone. Kurt was nearly sick.

"Look what you've done to Kitty!" she continued, her voice filled with accusation her blistered, blackened features were unable to express. "Your touch is poison!"

"They warned me," Kitty said with a sad shake of her head, her expression empty. "But I didn't want to believe them. I couldn't… But it's true. You're cursed, Kurt."

"Cursed…?" Kurt repeated in confusion, watching in horror as Kitty crouched down beside the putrefied cat on the floor, her tendons stretching gruesomely under her parchment skin. His stomach gave a dangerous lurch when a thick, runny fluid ran off her shoulders and throat to puddle on the floor at her feet. "What--what do you mean?"

Kitty looked back up at him with whitened, cobwebby eyes. "Everything you touch gets ruined," she said darkly. "Don't think it will stop once you beat Belasco. The poison resides in your own heart."

Kurt shook his head in weak denial, his blood pounding hotly in his ears. "Nein…" he gasped hoarsely.

"Yes!" Benny retorted with an angry glare. "It wasn't Belasco who left me to die in that cave! It wasn't Belasco who chose to save himself rather than stay with his team! It was you!"

"You deserted us, Nightcrawler," Sage glowered with a toss of her mold-encrusted hair. "You. And no punishment is great enough to make up for what you've done."

"You got some gall, Elf," Logan grunted, his scarred, stony features twisted in disgust. "Flirtin' with 'Ro, challengin' Belasco for control. Did you really think you could just make all this go away? What gives you the right to go on livin' when it was because of you that the rest of us were killed?"

"You know in your heart you were never cut out to be a leader," Sage continued, her voice harsh and sharp. "You're too soft. If you'd been more like Scott or Logan the four of us might at least have gotten a proper burial. But you couldn't make the tough decision to rescue one and not the other. You waited until it was too late to save any of us. And then, you teleported away--not because it was instinct but because you were scared!"

"You're not an X-Man," Melinda spat through charred, broken teeth. "You're a coward."

"No," Kurt sobbed, sinking down into a boneless heap on the splintery, uneven floor. "No, I wanted to go back for you. I tried! But Azazel--"

"You're too old for excuses, Kurt," Sage frowned in disapproval. "Don't try to blame your father for this. You made your own choices. And now it's time for you to pay, once and for all!"

The gathered corpses muttered their agreement. Kurt cringed further back against the wall, blinded by his tears as he sobbed into his hands. The words she spoke rang with truth, slicing through the careful stitches Ororo had sewn so tenderly in his shattered heart. All the guilt and pain that had defined his existence for so long came back in a wild rush, flooding his mind with despairing blackness.

"Kurt Wagner should be consigned to the same fate he left us to," Sage shouted, holding up her rotting, moldy arms. "Oblivion! Let's help Belasco erase him once and for all!"

Almost as one, the festering corpses raised their arms and advanced on the sobbing, trembling Kurt, their moaning threats and accusations swelling to fill the shadowy room. Kurt lowered his head, curling into a ball of hopeless shame.

"Nein," he sniffled softly against his knees in a last ditch attempt at self-preservation, his accented voice thick and hoarse with tears. "No, it isn't real. This can't be real!"

But the roaring zombies were closing in, their putrid stench burning his nostrils, stinging his throat. Kurt looked up in horror, crossing his arms protectively before his face as he screamed, "This isn't real! None of you are real! Belasco! Belasco, get me out of here!"

But there was no response. He was alone, alone with a hoard of rotting corpses intent on tearing him apart. Closing his eyes to block out their shuffling feet, he actually felt himself give up. His tears were now flowing with regret, not fear: regret for Ororo, regret for himself. He had come close, so close to redemption. But in the end, he just wasn't strong enough, just as Belasco hadn't been strong enough to save his Beatrice from Azazel.

The zombies were closing in now, but Kurt didn't care. He welcomed oblivion. Let Belasco win. Let him have his body. It would never bring him happiness. Only another lifetime of pain and disappointment. Kitty had been right. Even if he did defeat Belasco, nothing would change. Responsible or not, he would still carry the pain of his teammates' deaths in his heart for the rest of his life, a pain that would poison his relationships with the X-Men, twisting their friendship into something colder, more cautious. Eventually, even Ororo would end up hurt. He deserved to die at the hands of his team. It was better to endure the zombies' wrath than to end up letting down the only woman he had ever truly loved.

"If you love her so much, why don't you break your way out of this you big Dummkopf! These zombies are no match for the Incredible Nightcrawler!"

"Who is that?" Kurt asked blearily, his voice muffled by the groaning zombies all around him, pummeling at his back and sides. "Who's that talking?"

The little voice sighed in exasperation. "If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you," he said. "Now get out of there! Schnell! Before you get us both wiped from existence!"

"But…but how?" Kurt asked weakly.

"Duh!" the little voice frowned. "Just stand up!"

Kurt shook his head. "I can't," he mumbled, hissing in pain as Melinda poked him maliciously in the eye with a bony finger. "I deserve to suffer."

The voice groaned in exasperation. "If there's one thing I can't stand," he said, "it's martyrdom. Especially when it's completely unnecessary, not to mention selfish!"

"Selfish?" Kurt frowned, gasping when the stump of Logan's stone claw jabbed him in the side.

"Yeah, that's right," the voice snapped. "Selfish! Do you have any idea how much trouble your friends are going through on your behalf right now? Do you have any idea how much they're risking to save you? Jean Grey almost lost her mind holding Belasco back, giving you time to pull yourself together. And what about Ororo? She loves you, you idiot. How do you think she'd feel if after all you've put her through, you just sat here and let yourself die?"

"I never thought of it that way," Kurt said, wincing sharply as Sage scratched his arm with her long, yellowed nails, drawing blood.

"Look at it from her point of view," the voice said. "She's already lost you once. Do you really want to put her through that again, after all she's done for you?"

"What…what do I have to do?" Kurt asked, starting to struggle against the suffocating pile of reeking corpses beating and battering his body.

"Cage Belasco," the voice told him simply. "Shut him down once and for all. Take back control of the life that is rightfully yours."

"It's Belasco controlling these zombies, isn't it," Kurt realized, his rising anger at how easily he'd been manipulated beginning to force back the blackness clouding his thoughts. "Why didn't I see it before?"

"Good question," the voice said dryly. "Now move your tail! You're closer to the goal than you think."

Kurt nodded firmly, determination pumping strength back into his heavy limbs as he pushed up against the zombies, scattering them like rag dolls as he leapt to his feet. As he watched in astonishment mingled with deep pity, the horrible corpses crumbled into a fine, powdery dust that was quickly blown away by a fresh, cooling breeze.

"There now," the voice said approvingly from somewhere at Kurt's left. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Who are you?" Kurt asked again, squinting his night-adapted eyes as a ray of bright sunlight filtered its way into the room. As Kurt watched in amazement, the rough, cobwebby walls and rotted rafters faded slowly away, to be replaced instead with a rolling mountain landscape scented with pine mingled with the distinctive smell of centuries upon centuries of grazing goats. Below him in the near distance, a large Ferris wheel turned slowly above the treetops, accompanied by the flagpoles of several brightly colored tents. Kurt gasped in instant recognition. They were less than a mile away from his old circus!

The little voice seemed to smirk as he replied at last to his question. "I'm you of course," he said. "The part of you that knows better than to fall for such an obvious ploy. Gut Gott, man, Belasco was playing you like a harp and you were actually letting him! Though I will admit, that was a low blow. Belasco is one sick puppy, that's for sure."

Kurt furrowed his brow. "Why can't I see you?" he asked curiously, turning slowly in a complete circle.

"Look up!"

Kurt did, only to laugh out loud when he saw what looked to be a fourteen-year-old version of himself hanging by his tail from a tree branch. The young teenager shot him a toothy smile, then teleported from the tree to his side with a double BAMF of sulfurous smoke.

"You're welcome, by the way," he said with a cheeky grin. "And before you ask, Belasco isn't here. At least, not yet."

The boy gave him a pointed wink, nodding his curly head towards the colorful tents in the distance. Kurt's eyes opened wide as he suddenly realized what his younger self was suggesting.

"Kurt Wagner, you're a genius," he told him with a grin, his sharp eyes already seeking out his foster mother's ancient purple trailer. The boy graced him with a playful bow.

"Cage the bastard for me, will ya," he said as he straightened. "I really like that Ororo lady."

Kurt raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. "So glad you approve," he said, shooting the boy a genuinely grateful smile before BAMFing away.

* * *

The next installment is coming very soon! Stay tuned, and PLEASE REVIEW!

:D


	22. Chapter Eighteen: Pt 4 and Finale

Hey Everyone, guess what! I actually, factually, finally finished this chapter! That's right, this here bit I'm about to post marks the very end of the final chapter of this seemingly never-ending story! All that's left now is the Epilogue! I'd have finished that tonight too, but it's already past 3AM and my brain's starting to fall asleep in places.

So now, without any further ado, here at very, very long last is the final bit of the final chapter of _Belasco's Beatrice_! I just hope you like it! Please review!

* * *

BAMF! 

Kurt reappeared in the clearing beside the vibrantly painted wooden trailer his foster mother, Margali Szardos, had always used as her office/workshop just in time to see a teenaged girl dressed in a tight, pink leotard come running out of the main tent. She stopped short when she saw him, her mouth hanging open and her blue eyes unnaturally wide.

"No way," she said, shaking her head in frightened denial. "There's no way I'm seeing what I think I'm seeing. Kurt…Kurt is that really you?"

Kurt winced at the expression on his foster sister's face, realizing his mistake at once. He had seen the boy in the forest, and so had pictured his old circus the way it had been when he was fourteen. But at this time, Margali was still a fortune-teller whose passion for sorcery was little more than a hobby. What he needed for his forming idea to work was a skilled sorceress powerful enough to successfully perform a spell of summoning. That meant he would have to age this circus at least five years--but how?

Amanda was approaching him now, her expression appraising as she tentatively reached out a hand, although she stopped before she actually touched him.

"Wow," she said, her eyes wide with wonder. "Who knew my scrawny foster brother would grow up to be so hot? How did this happen, Kurt? Were you poking around in Mom's spell books or something?"

Kurt rolled his eyes to the heavens, knowing she was just a figment of memory mingled with his subconscious imagination but feeling the need to apologize to her just the same.

"I'm sorry, Jimaine," he said hurriedly, "but I don't have time to explain right now. I have to figure out--"

"Oh no, not you too!" the sixteen-year-old cut him off, her voice shrill with frustration. "How many times do I have to tell everyone: my name is AMANDA! _Amanda_, get it?"

Kurt sighed, gritting his teeth. He really didn't have time for this. Holding out his hand, he concentrated as hard as he could on consciously picturing his foster sister as she had been at twenty-one. For a seemingly endless moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, Jimaine began to change. Right before his astonished eyes, his foster sister grew from a pretty teenager to a stunning young adult. The length of her ponytail shortened from her lower back to just below her shoulders, and her pink leotard morphed into the familiar red and black costume with the pointed shoulders that the two of them had worn for their joint act.

Lowering his arm, Kurt took a moment to catch his breath, delighted with his success. Amanda was now looking around in confusion, clearly disorientated.

"Don't worry, Amanda," he said, focusing his concentration with all his might. "I'll have the rest of the circus caught up with you in a moment."

Maybe it was his success with Jimaine, or maybe he was just getting better at controlling his subconscious mind, but bringing his circus five years into the future was actually easier than he had expected. Looking around at the colorful new tents and shiny trailers that now filled the large clearing, Kurt quickly scanned for his foster mother's familiar purple trailer, spotting it at last on the outskirts of the camp. Leaving the befuddled Amanda to sort herself out, Kurt teleported directly to the trailer's open door, praying that his activities had not yet tipped Belasco off to his plan.

"Mom!" he called as he dashed up the stairs and into the trailer. "Mama, I need your help."

Margali looked up from her book, her sharp violet eyes glittering under the maroon kerchief that covered her frizzy, graying hair.

"What kind of help are we talking about?" she asked, slowly placing a bookmark on the page she'd been reading and closing the thick, leather-bound tome. "If this is about tonight's show--"

"No, no, it has nothing to do with the show," Kurt said quickly, leaning forward with his palms pressed against her multi-stained, round table as he caught her confused eyes with his desperate ones. "I need you to help me trap a demon."

* * *

"Make that circle a little larger, Kurt," Margali instructed, her eye critical as she watched her foster son drag the thick piece of red chalk around the freshly cleared floor of her workshop. "This pentagram has to be large enough to hold a full grown demon, remember. We don't want him escaping because his tail was stuck outside the circle, now do we?" 

"There," Kurt said, joining the two ends of the circle with a flourish of his wrist. "How's that?"

Margali tilted her head, considering. "Looks about right," she said after a long moment. "Now I need you to place these candles where each point of the star meets the circle." She pointed to five thick blood-red candles standing in a huddled row at the far end of one of her bookshelves.

"Got it," Kurt nodded, hurrying to do as he was told. He could feel his time growing short. His plan depended on catching Belasco by surprise. If the demon were to find him first, all his efforts here would be for nothing.

"Good," Margali nodded once the candles were in place. "Very good. Now, just push this cauldron into the center of the pentagram and we'll be ready to begin."

The large, black cauldron was far heavier than Kurt had expected, but somehow he managed to shove it into place without smudging a single line of the chalk pentagram he'd drawn. Standing back from the prepared space, he watched anxiously as Margali read through the spell of summoning once more, then raised her arms with a sudden shout.

A gust of cold wind blew through the ancient trailer, rattling the objects on their shelves. As it passed, the five red candles burst into flames as red as rubies and the empty cauldron began to hiss and steam. Closing her violet eyes, Margali started to chant, softly at first and then with growing intensity and volume, rocking her slender body back and forth as she held her arms out towards the flickering light from the candles.

Kurt stared at his entranced foster mother in growing alarm, but before he could think to say anything, Margali cut him off.

"Don't look at me!" she scolded him, her eyes still closed with concentration. "Watch the cauldron. This spell will not succeed without belief. You must believe your demon will appear there, or he will not."

Kurt nodded, fixing his gaze on the smoking cauldron as Margali resumed her chant.

* * *

"He's close. He's very close." 

Ginniyeh tilted her bald head, her scarred, sightless eyes turned in the direction of her father's voice. "Is it time for me to enter, father?" she hissed in her serpentine voice, an anticipatory smile spreading slowly over her pale features.

"Soon, my daughter," Azazel assured her, sharing a look with Mephisto across Kurt's prone body. A delicate sensor was positioned just over the unconscious mutant's forehead, the shadow it cast making his short, velvety fur seem almost black. "Very soon. I will give you the signal when the time is right."

"The final sensor is in place," Mephisto announced, his golden eyes fixed on the readouts flashing across the monitor of Dr. McCoy's laboratory computer. "Storage disk formatted and ready to receive data."

"Very good," Azazel smiled, his sharp fangs glinting in the florescent light of the medbay. "You have done well, my son. Doctor!"

Hank turned, apologizing to Scott as he reluctantly excused himself from his examination of Jean, who had only just started to regain consciousness after her own ordeal with Belasco.

"Yes?" the large mutant asked in concern, crossing the room with great, loping strides. "What's happened?"

"Nothing yet," the demon replied curtly, "but the next few minutes will be critical. I need you to keep a sharp eye on the monitors. If there is even the smallest change in my son's condition, I want to know immediately. Understand?"

McCoy ground his teeth, but swallowed his retort when his eyes fell on Kurt. The change in him was truly remarkable. Whatever else he had done, there was no denying that Azazel had been true to his word in this case. Kurt now looked just as Hank remembered him. A bit thinner, perhaps, his cheeks slightly more hollowed, but that was only to be expected. Even his arm had been restored, the bone and flesh having regenerated in a matter of mere hours after Mephisto and Azazel had administered their formula. Although Hank knew it had been inspired in part by his own experiments with genetic manipulation, he had been stunned to see the effects of the demons' elixir in practice. The science they'd used was so far in advance of anything he knew, it might as well have been magic--an observation the brilliant doctor would be loathe to admit aloud.

Still, the results of the demons' efforts were undeniable. If they truly could repair his friend's mind as skillfully as they had restored his body, Hank was ready to do whatever they asked--no matter how obnoxious or irritating he might find them.

"I'm on it," he said, keeping his tone professional as he took up his post before the wall of beeping machines they had hooked up to monitor Kurt. As Azazel turned back to his own work, supervising the others, Hank brought a casual hand to the comm device at his belt. If everything worked out as planned, Kurt would be regaining consciousness relatively soon. And when he did, Hank wanted to be sure that Ororo would be there to finally welcome him home.

* * *

The hissing cauldron was boiling like mad now, the thick, red-tinted steam filling the small trailer with its sharp, rusty smell. Kurt had to squint to see through the rising fog, his heart racing with nervous anticipation as Margali's chanting continued to swell. 

Suddenly, the fog was pierced by a flash of thin, blue lightening shooting up from the bubbling kettle. The thick, reddish steam began to roll slowly around the room, picking up speed as it gradually condensed into a dense, crackling cloud hovering just over the cauldron. Margali's chants rose to a wild crescendo as the slowly revolving pillar of steam started to distort and bend, as though something was trapped inside, fighting to get out. An unearthly chorus of shrieks and yowls roared up from the twisting cloud, joining with Margali's shouts as the chalk pentagram began to glow with a strange, pale light. Kurt's breath caught in his throat as a sudden thrill of fear shadowed his mind, whispering that he was no match against the power of Belasco's wrath. He took an involuntary step back from the writhing form coalescing within the blackening steam, his hands trembling and his shoulders stooping under the weight of his crushing doubt.

"Get back here, Kurt!" Margali's sharp voice broke through the taunting whispers that were spinning through his mind, sapping his spirit. "Your are allowing this demon to manipulate your fears. Now is the time to think with your head, not your heart!"

"But…but I can't hold him, Mama," Kurt gasped, his head pounding with the pressure of myriad conflicting thoughts and emotions, all of them threatening to pull him down to a swirling madness he could not fight. "He's stronger than I am…he has always been stronger…"

"Open your eyes!" Margali demanded, pointing a long, blood-red nail towards the solidifying figure floating above the cauldron. "See the truth! It is your belief that keeps your demon trapped within the pentagram. It is your doubt that will set him free!"

Kurt lifted his head, the reddish steam stinging his eyes and blurring his vision as he forced himself to take a shuffling step forward. Belasco was snarling at him from within the smoky cloud, his thin lips moving in a silent chant as he projected thoughts of hate and horror Kurt's way.

At that moment, Kurt knew his foster mother was right. Belasco was trapped, helpless to escape the circle of chalk. His plan had worked! A surge of triumph filled him at the sight, his eyes brightening and his posture straightening as he turned an excited smile towards Margali.

But his foster mother was no longer there. Kurt's look of confusion was quickly replaced by a huge grin as he realized his subconscious had instead summoned the image of the only person he truly wanted to share this moment with. Her deceptively delicate features were glowing with pride as she took a step towards him, sliding a loving hand up his back to rest supportively on his shoulder.

"Now, Kurt," Ororo told him, her crystal blue eyes sharp as she turned an almost predatory glare towards the struggling Belasco. "Do it now!"

"It will be my pleasure," Kurt assured her lightly, his face taking on a look of intense concentration as he stretched out his arms. The mere feel of Ororo's presence at his side banished any lingering wisps of doubt that he was not strong enough to trap Belasco for good. Fueled by her love and the confidence it inspired, Kurt transformed the dusky smoke that still swirled above the cauldron into a thick, metal cage without a door, cutting off Belasco's influence once and for all. Even the demon's sputtering curses were silenced as the cage crashed to the floor, the reverberation extending out beyond the cramped, purple trailer to be reflected in the subtly altered rhythms of the monitoring devices that surrounded Kurt's bed…

* * *

From her place by his bedside, Ororo's head shot up, her expression pinched with worry as she squeezed Kurt's fuzzy hand tighter against her chest. 

"There's been a change in--" Dr. McCoy started, but his report was cut off by Azazel's triumphant shout.

"Ha ha!" the demon crowed, his golden eyes glowing so fiercely it was almost frightening to behold. "He's done it! Ginniyeh, quickly!"

With sure, practiced movements, Mephisto guided his blind sister's hand until her bony fingers were brushing Kurt's temple. The bald telepath pursed her lips, her concentration complete as she reached down into Kurt's mind…

* * *

Kurt jumped back, pulling Ororo with him as an enormous, grasping hand materialized out of thin air just below the ceiling. As he watched, dumfounded and more than a little frightened, the giant hand snatched up Belasco's cage and began to rise. 

"Wait!" Kurt shouted, running a few steps forward. "What's going on? Where are you taking him?"

The hand paused. Then, much to Kurt's alarm, a disembodied head faded into view. It was the head of a woman possessed of a stern, old-fashioned beauty. Her pale, slender features were framed by soft, dark curls and her large eyes were of the deepest blue.

"My name is Ginniyeh," the head intoned, her low voice causing his brain to rattle uncomfortably in his skull. "I have been sent by our father to extract the Belasco program from your mind. The retrieved data will be placed on a storage disk until such time as our father once again requires its services."

"Services?" Kurt repeated with a frown. "Wait, do you mean--"

"No questions," the floating head glared angrily, her eyes hard and cold. "Be satisfied to know that you have achieved the impossible. No one before has ever recovered from one of my mental wipes. And none will again, that I swear."

As she spoke, her features began to fade, slowly dissolving before Kurt's thoroughly unsettled gaze until only her steely eyes remained. "You are to sleep now, Kurt Wagner," Ginniyeh ordered, her serpentine voice seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere, enveloping his thoughts with her will. "When you wake, your mind will be healed. But I warn you now, _brother_, if our paths should ever cross again no one will be able to shield you from my vengeance. Not even Azazel."

And with that promise, the cruel eyes vanished, along with Belasco's cage. For a moment, Kurt felt a sensation of indescribable lightness tingling right in the center of his brain. Then, suddenly, his world gave a sickening lurch, spinning woozily before everything snapped to black…

* * *

The response from the school was overwhelming when they learned that Nightcrawler had returned to them after having been presumed dead for so long. For the first week after he regained consciousness, Kurt's room in the medbay had been inundated with cards and letters from former teammates who had retired from the X-Men and scattered around the globe, as well as streams of visitors--particularly Anna and Paul, who were thrilled to discover the unconscious demon they'd landed on had turned out to be _the_ Kurt Wagner, the fallen hero for whom their dormitory wing had been named. 

While he was still too weak to be moved, Ororo made a point of sticking by his side day and night, only leaving to teach the odd class or to bring his meals. At first things were awkward between them. For Kurt, everything that had happened in his mind was somewhat unclear, like a dream he could only half-remember, or even believe. The Professor assured them both that such memory loss was perfectly natural and even expected. What Kurt did recall, however, was how brave Ororo had been to approach him in that schizoid state up on the roof of the cathedral, and how she had been there to support him at the end, holding his hand through the worst of his ordeal. Her face had been the first thing he'd seen upon regaining consciousness. In the haze of bright florescent light from the medbay's metallic ceiling, she had seemed an angel to his exhausted eyes, her snowy hair shining like a halo around her and her smile alight with joy when she saw he was awake at last. It had been the most touchingly beautiful sight he had ever seen, the emotion in her smile leaving him completely at a loss for words.

Their shyness with each other had quickly faded, however, and between visits from old friends and introductions to new ones, the two of them had become closer than ever. When Hank finally declared that Kurt was strong enough to leave the medbay and move into a room of his own, Ororo was there to help him take his first steps on his newly restored feet. And when Professor Xavier called an assembly of the entire school to officially welcome him back to the team, Ororo was at his side, her eyes glowing with pride when the packed auditorium rose to their collective feet to give him a standing ovation.

Now, they stood together in the darkened greenhouse, the light of the half-moon filtering through the leaves of the fig tree they had planted so many, many years before. His nervous eyes fixed on hers, Kurt slowly sank to one knee, somehow finding the courage to ask her the question that had been burning in his heart since before he'd ever heard the name Belasco.

Ororo stared for a long moment, then pulled Kurt back to his feet. The pallid light on her face brought tears to his eyes as she nodded somberly, then ran into his arms, whispering her acceptance over and over again in his pointed, blue ear. Pulling back gently, Kurt held out the ring he'd been concealing in the spade of his tail and slipped it on her finger. Catching her tearing eyes with his, he touched the shining silver of her hair with tender fingers and her gentle smile banished any lingering doubts from his heart. There was no need for words as the soft breeze from the open doors rustled the leaves above their heads, drawing them closer until their lips finally met.

This kiss was the delicate droplet that heralded the rising flood; the rich scent of rain before the storm. It was an instant of perfect joy, clear and sharp and warm. Their tears mingled as they fell, their breaths laced with laughter as the full realization of their victory at last hit home. Spurred by Ororo's dedication and love, Kurt Wagner had finally found his redemption. His Beatrice had guided him home.

The End

* * *

Don't forget the Epilogue is still to come! Stay tuned, and thank you all for your incredible patience with me and my slowness. :D 


	23. Epilogue

OK, Everyone, this is it! The very end of this story. After this, there is no more. This is the part where you finally get to see what Azazel was planning all along. He may have given up on corrupting Kurt, but that doesn't mean he's no longer out to get him--in the cruelest way possible.

So here it is at last, the Epilogue to _Belasco's Beatrice_. Thank you very much for reading, and especially for all your reviews. They're all deeply, deeply appreciated. Thank you!

* * *

**Epilogue**

In a realm out of time, in a dimension as isolated as it was barren, Azazel lounged on his stony throne. A flickering image wavered gently before him, a wall of holographic light projected down from the high, craggy ceiling. From the side, the projection seemed little more than a thin white line of glowing energy, barely a centimeter thick. From the front, however, the image was as clear and encompassing as a window—a window that looked out into another world.

"You are still here, Master," Ydrazil's slow, surprised voice rumbled from the doorway. The hulking figure was nearly invisible in the relative darkness behind bright projection. "Mephistopheles is waiting for you to cross with him into Your Earth."

Azazel looked up, but his thoughtful expression didn't change. "Oh, Ydrazil," he said, as though he was just noticing his presence now. "Come here, my boy. I wish to show you something."

Ydrazil cringed, but did as he was bidden, lumbering silently across the room to lurk behind his master's throne.

"I'm planning to visit them tonight." Azazel nodded toward the projection with a small, surprisingly tender smile. "What do you think?"

Ydrazil blinked, staring at the images in confusion. It looked like footage shot by a hand-held camera, somewhat shaky and unprofessional. Whoever was holding the camera was pointing it up into the lower branches of a large tree, where two small, grinning children were climbing. Just then, a slender, female hand came into the shot, beckoning the children down. They leapt to the ground with astonishing agility. Both children were blue with pointed ears and tails, but so many of the inhabitants of Azazel's realm sported those features Ydrazil barely noted it.

"Twins, you know," Azazel grinned proudly, his glowing eyes fixed to the projection. "A fortunate accident, I would say, since neither of their parents is getting any younger."

Ydrazil frowned, wondering if he should risk asking why they were watching this, when the camera tilted up to focus on a laughing man the demon recognized at once.

"But Master," he gasped. "That's—isn't that—?"

"The one who got away?" Azazel smirked with surprising good humor. "Or so he thinks. The feed from the microchip I implanted in my daughter-in-law's temple is working perfectly, wouldn't you say? Even after seven years. I must admit I'm impressed. I really should commend those boys and girls in the lab."

"But Master," Ydrazil said again, "why would you go to visit him? He hates you."

Azazel laughed. "Ah, my thick, foolish Ydrazil, you see the world in such stark tones. No, my Kurt doesn't hate me. He distrusts me, he despises me, he resents me, and he rebels against all I stand for, but he doesn't hate me." He leaned forward in his throne, his gleaming eyes calculating as he focused in on the roughhousing twins.

"But I am not traveling to my Earth to visit him," the demon proclaimed. "I am going to meet my grandchildren. Tonight, after their loving parents have tucked them safely into their beds."

Ydrazil frowned in confusion. "But why, my lord—if I may be so bold," the nervous demon stammered. "Of what use could two children be to you?"

"Children don't stay children forever, Ydrazil," Azazel chided him. "These happy youngsters will one day grow into restless teenagers: naïve, impressionable, pigheaded, and most of all, desperate to assert their independence from overprotective parents too old to fully appreciate their frustration. But I will show them understanding; offer them the freedom they desire. And they will come to me. They will come to me of their own free will, and I will have revenged myself upon my rebellious son once and for all."

At that glorious thought, the demon began to laugh, a cold triumphant cackle. After a moment, Ydrazil joined in although he still wasn't sure he entirely understood his master's plan.

"Why go now, then?" he inquired cautiously. "Why not wait until they are teenagers?"

Azazel rolled his golden eyes. "And have them shy away like sheep from a wolf?" He shook his head. "No, I must approach them now, while they are still too young to understand my position. I'll go in disguise as well. After all, what self-respecting parents would believe their children's tales of the boogieman in the closet?"

Ydrazil nearly choked trying to swallow a laugh. "Boogieman?" he repeated incredulously. Azazel shot him a look.

"Yes, I will have to play the clown for a while," he admitted in distaste. "Unfortunately, it is the best way to earn their trust without raising the suspicions of their parents. But once I finally do reveal myself, they will be all the more eager to come with me to my 'fairy tale' realm." He smirked darkly, then sighed.

"That is where I went wrong with Kurt, I know," he admitted. "I left him in the care of Margali, thinking a sorceress such as she would be too concerned with keeping her place on the Winding Way to nurture a fuzzy, blue child. But to my surprise, she left the Way in favor of raising the children, completely ruining my son with notions of forgiveness and love. By the time I finally returned to him, he had already found acceptance with his team of deluded do-gooders and it was too late to undo the damage."

Azazel scowled, baring his fangs as he slammed his fist down upon the arm of his throne. "I will not make the same mistake with my grandchildren. Their potential is far too great to be lost to the forces of good."

Ydrazil nodded, opening his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything he was interrupted by the appearance of a tall, dapper man in a tailored business suit.

"Father," the man said in Mephisto's voice, "the doorway to your Earth closes in three minutes. What is the hold up?"

"There is no hold up," Azazel told him sharply. "You simply have no patience. Are you prepared for your mission?"

"Fully," Mephisto assured him stiffly. "But, with respect, we must leave now if I am to be on time for the meeting to get that videogame we designed on the shelves."

Azazel hit a camouflaged button on the side of his throne, then stood and strode over to his disguised son as the projection flickered, then faded away completely.

"After you, then," he nodded, then shot one last glare at the cringing Ydrazil.

"You are not to discuss what we talked about with anyone, is that understood," he said. Ydrazil nodded.

"Yes, Master," the hulking demon assured him quickly. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good," Azazel nodded in satisfaction. Then, with a swish of his long, powerful tail, he turned to follow his son from the room.

Ydrazil watched them go, then sat down on the stone step before his master's throne with a deep sigh, staring out at the place where the images of the happy family had been flickering only minutes before. It had seemed a scene out of paradise to the scarred, brutalized demon, and for a brief moment, Ydrazil felt a strange stab of pity for the children. It only lasted a second, and Ydrazil hastily pushed the unfamiliar emotion from his heart in a burst of confused panic, not knowing why he should feel that way.

It was wrong to question Azazel in anything, particularly when it came to how he chose to manipulate his family. If he thought it was best to lure those children from their family, then it was best and that was all there was to it.

Nodding firmly to himself, Ydrazil strode to the corner and picked up his mop and bucket, washing away his doubts as he lost himself in scrubbing at the stones of his master's throne room. Within a matter of minutes, the entire conversation he'd had with Azazel had faded away, along with the memory of the two smiling boys.

**The End**

**

* * *

**And that's it! Stay tuned now for the upcoming conclusion to _Small Steps, Great Leaps_, coming soon!

Thank you all again so very much for your wonderful reviews!

:D


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